from me. Man they killed Lenny Bruce. They killed him. They tried to take his words away. His life. Countless others. The bums in the street, the tramps in the saloon. Can’t they stop what they have created? Has it become that strong? What kind of world are we living in? Why if they see it do they march on stubbornly. Blindly. Can one fight the world? Can you stop the wind from blowing. The rain from falling. Life from ending. No. But I can try. I’m putting in my speech on Lenny Bruce. The protest speech I had to do for English. Its not so good. But the kids in the class seemed to have really liked it. I don’t think the teacher was to thrilled. But it doesn’t matter.
[unedited journal entry #3, April 20, 1975]