62: No remedy surmounts heaven where detachment is trimmed. Swimming there uproots the whole series, bright, tanned & then accounted in sympathetic parody and indeed praise, contrary to more gracious remedies.

We have functional emotions, I think, grounded quite 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 are true, here in my heart, shifting iniquity to self-inquiry, I read. Stay with me, never stop. Sin here.