“When writing personal letters I have sometimes gone too far. Maybe belief and trust in another’s love is an obsessional desire to control a wayward eyewitness. I could go on and on about the origins of transference via H. D. and The Sword Went Out to Sea but a foreword is a like a fish tank so there isn’t room here for leaping dolphins, solo séances, hallucinatory visions, dead pilots, the atomic bomb, nervous breakdowns, the Küsnacht clinic March–November 1946. Sigh sough rough wind world war.”
Book:Debths
