Happy New Year. I'm back. Today is bright and windy. If this journal were supposed to be a log of my life, it would be a failure. Three times now I've deleted my past entries and started from scratch. But this is not a log of my life. This is an impulse. Someday I will have no ideas about anything. No ideas about life or art, morality, society, religion. I will be free then. I feel strange, stupid and hypocritical, when I put forth my ideas backed by my shallow and fleeting passions. If I had no ideas at all, I might not be so ashamed of the huge spaces between what I say and what I do, what I want to be and what I am.
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