I feel recently certain madness hidden in my body shaking and becoming more and more vigorously. Am I going to mad? Maybe, for I have read something so abstract, so fantastic, so rhapsodic, but blue that I can't write properly. Virginia Woolf is coming again. Flying away home, no! Where am I? Suddenly hit by a stone, I land on an island. Nothing is there, but am I, but sand. I am killing myself by sucking sea water.