62: No remedy patterns heaven where detachment is trimmed. Swimming there uproots the bright series, brocaded & then stiffened into sympathetic parody, quite contrary to remedies.

We have functional emotions, I think, grounded inward by self-love & this choppy vocab of defined affects. There’s a hint of falsetto. Shields up. I’m painting the last place you look, shifting iniquity to self-inquiry. Stay with me, never stop. Turn here.