Lipton’s Journal/February 7, 1955/491
I keep trying to write about potency, orgasm, frigidity, and castration, and I seem to end up every time today discussing the artist. But I cannot force these things—my mind is deeply dialectical, my understanding of one thing creates its antithesis—beginning to write about A, I end up with an illumination of B. Which if continued would disgorge deep factual matter about C, which in turn would illumine D. This whole journal has been an expression of in-and-out, give-and-take, dialectical illumination and factual or theoretical (did anyone ever say that a fact is always a theory), it is no more than a frozen hypothesis accepted by everyone until a new hypothesis overthrows it and becomes fact in its turn. (Fact—fuck act, the f of act, the “beat” imposed on the continuum) Factual or theoretical discovery. No wonder I buried in the last sentence of The Deer Park—“and nothing is so difficult to discover as a simple fact.” Of course. The fact has no existence—it has merely sup-intelligence, Other-Life existence.