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Since I started this Journal I have been feeling happier than I have in my whole life. So much has been released and so much created—because for me release and creation are parallel expressions of the same thing. But underneath it persists a feeling that I am going to die soon which perhaps is why I entrust each installment of the journal to the | Since I started this Journal I have been feeling happier than I have in my whole life. So much has been released and so much created—because for me release and creation are parallel expressions of the same thing. But underneath it persists a feeling that I am going to die soon which perhaps is why I entrust each installment of the journal to the mail. I even caught myself thinking just now that perhaps I would write at this journal for the next year or two, and there would be thousands of pages, and then pop I would go—which makes me sad rather than depressed because for the first time in my life I really want to live, how I want to live. But anyway I then thought, “There must be literary executors,” and I thought of Cy{{LJ:Rembar}} and Adele{{LJ:Adele}} and possibly my sister, and Danny Wolf,{{LJ:Wolf}} and very much my father, and as chief executor, Bob Lindner{{LJ:Lindner}} of course. And then I thought of how that would pain Adele and yet it would be necessary, for so much of this journal would be painful to her, and so she could not exercise her genuine literary taste. | ||
But what also occurs to me is that Bob too has feelings about dying early.{{refn|Lindner was prescient. He died of coronary heart disease in 1956 at the age of 41.}} Perhaps the emotion has no bodily significance—it is only the retiring cannonades of sociostasis which with its cunning knows that people who are highly sensitive and put trust in their sensitivity are most prone to the suggestion of death for they believe what their brain tells them. Only I suspect for both Bob and me that it’s the {{LJ:S}} part of our brain which is talking and not the {{LJ:H}}. The H is giving the happiness now—it knows I’m going to live to a healthy old age like my father. | But what also occurs to me is that Bob too has feelings about dying early.{{refn|Lindner was prescient. He died of coronary heart disease in 1956 at the age of 41.}} Perhaps the emotion has no bodily significance—it is only the retiring cannonades of sociostasis which with its cunning knows that people who are highly sensitive and put trust in their sensitivity are most prone to the suggestion of death for they believe what their brain tells them. Only I suspect for both Bob and me that it’s the {{LJ:S}} part of our brain which is talking and not the {{LJ:H}}. The H is giving the happiness now—it knows I’m going to live to a healthy old age like my father. |