And this room in monochrome

mono­chrome.

You’ve bought a felt tip pen, haven’t you!

And the thought came to me all of a sud­den: “Yes, phys­ical suf­fer­ing may be relieved–but what is there to relieve spir­itual suf­fer­ing like mine?”

Though, of course, it improves one.

I think it is begin­ning to show in my eyes.

I looked at them for nearly two hours in the mir­ror last even­ing, try­ing to be quite certain.

And, you know, there’s a kind of look in them that’s never been there until recently. A kind of a–a—-

Well, it’s an intan­gible look, if you get what I mean.

Not exactly a hungry look, more of a yearn­ing look!

Thank heaven, though, I can con­trol it–one should always be cap­tain of one’s soul, shouldn’t one?

I hide it at times. Because one must hide one’s suf­fer­ing from the world, mustn’t one?

But at other times I let it show.

And, really, with prac­tice, I think I am going to man­age it so that I can turn it off and on-if you get what I mean–almost at will.

Because, you know, in cer­tain cos­tumes that look will be quite unbecoming.

Quite out of Har­mony. And Inner Beauty only comes through Inner Har­mony, doesn’t it?

Har­mony! Har­mony! Oh, to be in accord with the Infinite!

Nearly every night before I go to bed I ask myself, “Have I vibrated in tune with the Infin­ite today, or have I failed?”

(don mar­quis)

I carry around a shard of jet in my inner pocket. It’s a good lump, and you can see the lines in it, parts of the rings of a monkey-puzzle tree from 150 mil­lion years ago (that’s exactly what it is, as I’m sure you know).

One of the inter­est­ing prop­er­ties of jet is that although it is as black as black can be (jet black, tee hee) if you draw it across some­thing like a white rock, it’ll write in reddish-brown.

Another inter­est­ing prop­erty is that jet is warm. It’s a stone, it ought not to be, but it is.

I think there is a moral in this. I haven’t found it yet.

Lean for­ward, and listen care­fully. I will indeed whis­per my first ques­tion in your ear. I will put aside the shard of glass for another time, if and as needed. I appre­ci­ate this oppor­tun­ity, even in black and white. If I don’t like the answer, there will be no unpleas­ant con­sequences. I’m not nearly as stern and growly as I may seem. Here it is, my first question.

I’m listen­ing.

good heav­ens

I have many ques­tions but no shards of glass, sadly.

Andre — I have, yes. Gosh, it’s good. This dood­ling lark is great. I shall start post­ing examples of my work from tomor­row. Hurrah.

Ker­mit — It’s true, I ask myself the ques­tion in the last para­graph of that quote almost every night before I sleep. Sadly, I’ve never yet heard the answer.

Gold­fish — If any­one can find the moral to this, I’m sure it’s you. Please keep me updated, as ever.

Andre [again] — Heav­ens to Betsy!

Ani — Shards of glass aren’t entirely essen­tial. But yes, the ques­tions cer­tainly are.

Free the caged and dis­con­ten­ted tigers, and give them a feed, they need a hearty help­ing of answers.

I thought not, but surely they help to allay the fears?

What did it feel like? I ima­gine it hurt, but can that hurt be described or must it be experienced?

How can i turn from sepia back to black and white? Things have got­ten awfully confusing.