gri_2003_m_46_b01_f02_025

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65320060 - Coco333
WINNER - 65413850 - srasg56
65427481 - WiltedLotus
65745072 - SusanMorley53425
65790941 - k.h.pot
66043511 - not-logged-in-dc021d940ab793fb9c0a

65320060 - Coco333

Hotel de l'Avenir
52 Rue Qay Larroc
Paris

Saturday

My dearest Sylvia

Thank you so much for all your letters - all of which have now come, much to my relief - and Albert's, too, incidentally, - as I kept worrying about the delay.
I shall be back on Wednesday. I am excited already at the prospect of seeing you after such a long while. Turns out on Friday it would be best for you to make arrangements for sleeping with your friends because there seems to be a slight antagonism between Albert and Evenlyn which I don't want to divert to myself. I must see her when I return and would prefer not to arrange it by letter with her in case I jeopardize (oh hell, I don't know how to spell it) our future chances which will be good, I think. Since you reminded me that I wouldn't be any good anyway on the 16th I felt this was the decision to make.
Today started in a cafe on the Champs Elysees with vermouth and ham sandwiches, and macaroons. We had been to the Folies Bergere, oh what a bore! Home, we had to walk, by two o'clock. Up again at ten. In the afternoon I went to look at the Picassos, , Legers, Braques, Brancusi, etc. Then I got some books, including Edith Sitwell's 'English Eccentrics', which looks enchanting, fabulous, witty.
I wrote this poem this morning at about 2.30. I doubt it's complete yet but as it's about your this letter is the place for it.

The centreless dreams of people
Weighing a thousand beds until their fleish
Staining as many pillows with
The blood less fantasy ensures
Are not the dreams about line me
Which radiate from Sylvia
Like Minerva's statue in an academy
On showers of stars from a woman's head combed

I'll try and give you all the information Michael needs at the weekend though I warn you that I have lived very much across the normal pattern of life. Half-student, half-poet.

Tonight we're having a meal in the room with an American student, a Californian, named Stuart. We have American tinned meats and chocolate, and fresh vegetables. I expect we'll go to the cinema later. I think of you. I love you. As it's less than a week to next Friday
smells of awaking increase.
I'm delighted you're painting again.
I adore you

Lawrence

WINNER - 65413850 - srasg56

Hotel de l'Avenue
52 Rue Gay Lussac
Paris V
Saturday
My dearest Sylvia
Thank you so much for all your letters - all of which have now
come, much to my relief - and Albert's , too, incidentally, - as I kept
worrying about the delay.
I shall be back on Wednesday. I am excited already at the pros-
pect of seeing you after such a long while. I think that on Friday it
would be best for you to make arrangements for sleeping with your friends
because there seems to be a slight antagonism between Albert and Evelyn
which I don't want to divert to myself. I must see her when I return and
would prefer not to arrange it my letter until then in case I jeop-
ardise (oh, hell, I don't know how to spell it) our future chances which
will be good, I think. Since you reminded me that it wouldn't be any
good anyway on the 16th I felt this was the decision to make.
Today started in a cafe on the Champs Elysees with vermouth and
ham sandwiches, and marcaroons. We had been to the Follies Bergere, oh
what a bore! Home, we had to walk, by two o'clock. Up again at ten. In
the afternoon I went to look at the Picassos, Malloils, Legere, Braques,
Brancusi, &c. Then I got some books, including Edith Sitwell's English
Eccentrics which looks enchanting, fabulous, witty.
I wrote this poem this morning at about 2.30. I doubt its com-
plete yet but as it's about you this letter is the place for it.
The centreless dreams of people
Weighing a thousand beds with their flesh
Staining as many pillows with
The blood their phantasy ensures
Are not the dreams sent line me
which radiate from Sylvia
Like Minerva's statue in an academy
On flowers of Dais from a woman's head combed

I'll try and give you the information Michael needs at the weekend
though I warn you that I have lived very much across the normal
pattern of life. Half-student, half-poet.

Tonight we're having a meal in the room with an American student,
a Californian, named Stuart, we have American tinned meats and
chocolate, and fresh vegetables. I expect we'll go to the cinema later.
I think of you. I love you. as it's less than a week to next Friday
Smells of cooking increase.
I'm delighted you're painting again.
I adore you
Lawrence

65427481 - WiltedLotus

Hotel del l'Avenir
52 Rue Guy Larrac
Paris
Saturday

My dearest Sylvia
Thank you so much for all your old letters - - all of which have now come, much to my relief - and Albert's, too , incidentally, - as I kept worrying about the delay.
I shall be back on Wednesday. I am excited already at the pros-pect of seeing you after such a long while. I think that on Friday it would be best for you to make arrangements for sleeping with your friends because there seems to be a slight antagonism between Albert and Evelyn which I don't want to divert myself. I must see her when I return and would prefer not to arrange it by letter until in case I jeopardize (oh, hell, I don't know how to spell it) our future chances which will be good, I think. Since you reminded me that it wouldn't be any good anyway on the 16th, I felt this was the decision to make.
Today started in a cafe on the Champs Elysees with vermouth and ham sandwiches, and macaroons. We had been to the Follies Bergere, oh what a bore! Home, we had to walk, by two o'clock/ Up again at ten. In the afternoon I went to look at Picassos, Maillols, Leger, Braques, Brancusi, &c. Then I got some books, including Edith Sitwell's English Eccentrics which looks enchanting, fabulous, witty.
I wrote this poem this morning at about 2:30. I doubt its com-plete yet but as it's about you this letter is the place for it.

The centreless dreams of people
weighing a thousand beds with their flesh
staining as many pillows with
the blood their phantasyensures
are not the dreams
me
which radiate fromSylvia
like Minerva's statue in an academy
On showers of hair from a woman's head combed

I'll try and give you the information Michael needs at the weekend though I warn you that I have lived very much acros the normal pattern of life. Half-student, half-poet.
Tonight we're having a meal in the room with an American student, a Californian, named Stuart. We have American tinned meats and chocolate, and fresh vegetables. I expect we'll go to the cinema later. I think of you. I love you. Oh it's been a week to next Sunday.

Smells of cooking increase.
I'm delighted you're painting again.
I adore you

Lawrence

65745072 - SusanMorley53425

Hotel de l'Avenis
52 Rue SayLassare
Paris
Saturday

My dearest Sylvia

Thank you so much for all your letters - all of which have now
come, much to my relief - and Albert's, too, incidentally, - as I kept
worrying about the delay.

I shall be back on Wednesday. I am excited already at the pros-
pect of seeing you after such a long while. I think that on Friday it
would be best for you to make arrangements for sleeping with your friends
because there seems to be a slight antagonism between Albert and Evelyn
which I don't want to dinat to myself. I must see her when I return and
would prefer not to arrange it by letter with her in case I jeop-
ardize (also; hell, I don't know how to spell it) our future chances which
will be good, I think. Since you reminded me that it wouldn't be any
good anyway on the 16th I felt this was the decision to make.

Today started in a cafe on the Champs Elysee with vermouth and
ham sandwiches, and macaroons. We had been to the Follies Bergere, ah
meat a bone! Home, we had to walk, by two o'clock. Up again at ten. In
the afternoon I went to look at the Picassos, Malloils, Legen, Brogues
Brancusi, etc. Then I got some books, including Edith Sitmells English
Eccentries which looks enchanting, fabulous, witty.

I wrote this poem this morning at about 2.30. I doubt its com-
plete yet but as its about you this letter is the place for it.
The centreless dreams of people
Weighing a thousand hads with their flesh
Staining as many pillows with
The blood their phantasy ensues
Are not the dreams that line me
Which radiate from Sylvia
like Minerva's statue in an academy
On showers as hairs from a woman's head cowled

I'll try to give you all the information Michael needs at the weekend
though I warn you that I have lined very much across the normal
pattern of life. Half-student, half-poet.

Tonight we're having a meal in the room with an American student
a Californian, named Stuart. with some American tinned meats and
chocolate, and fresh vegetables. I expect we'll go to the cinema later.

I think of you. I love you. As it's less than a week to next Sunday.

Smells of cooking increase.
I'm delighted you're painting again.
I adore you
Lawrence

65790941 - k.h.pot

Hotel de l'Avenis
52 Rue Qay Larrae
Paris
Saturday

My dearest Sylvia
Thank you so much for all your letters - all of which have now
come, much to my relief - and Albert's, too, incidentally, - as I kept
worrying about the delay.
I shall be back on Wednesday. I am excited already at the pros-
pect of seeing you after such a long while. I think that on Friday it
would be best for you to make arrangements for sleeping with your friends
because there seems to be a slight antagonism between Albert and Evelyn
which I don't want to divest to myself. I must see her when I return and
would prefer not to arrange it by letter with her in case I jeop-
ardize (oh, hell, I don't know how to spell it) our future changes which
will be good, I think. Since you reminded me that it wouldn't be any
good anyway on the 16th I felt this was the decision to make.
Today started in a cafe on the Champs Elysees with vermouth and
ham sandwiches, and macaroons. We had been to the Follies Bergere, oh
what a bore! Home, we had to walk, by two o' clock. up again at ten. In
the afternoon I went to look at the Picassos, Mallails, Tegen, Broques,
Brancusi, &c. Then I got some books, including Edith Sitwell's English
Eccentrics which looks enchanting, fabulous, witty.
I wrote this poem this morning at about 2.30. I doubt it's com-
plete yet but as it's about you this letter is the place for it.
The centreless dreams of people
weighing a thousand beds with their flesh
Staining as many pillows with
The blood their phantasy ensures
Are not the dreams cent line me
which radiate from Sylvia
like Minerva's statue in an academy
On showers of hair from a woman's head combed
i'll try and give you the information Micahel needs at the weekend
though I warn you that I have lived very much across the normal
pattern of life. Half-student, half-poet.
Tonight we're having a meal in the room with an American student,
a Californian, named Stuart. We have American dinner meats and
chocolate, and fresh vegetables. I expect we'll go to the cinema later.
I think of you. I love you. As it's less than a week to next Friday.
Smells of waking increase.
I'm delighted you're painting again.
I adore you
Lawrence

66043511 - not-logged-in-dc021d940ab793fb9c0a

Hotel de ll'avenis
52 Rue dag larrac
Saturday

My dearest Sylvia
Thank you so much for all your letters -- all of which have now come, much to my relief -- and Albert's, too, incidentally, -- as I kept worrying about the delay.
I shall be back on Wednesday. I am excited already at the prospect of seeing you after such a long while. I think that on Friday it would be bet for you to make arrangements for sleeping with your friends because there seems to be a slight antagonism between Albert and Evelyn which i don't want to divert to myself. I must see her when i return and would prefer not to arrange it by letter with her in case I jeorpardize (oh, hell, I don't know how to spell it) our future chances which will be good, I think. Since you reminded me that it wouldn't be any good anyway on the 18th, I felt this was the decision to make.
Today started in a cafe on the Champs Elysees with vermouth and ham sandwiches, and macaroons. We had been to the Follies Bergere, oh what a bore! Home, we had to walk, by two o'clock. Up again at ten. In the afternoon I went to look at the Picassos, Malloies Degas, Braques, Brancusi, etc. Then I got some books, including Edith Sitwell's English Eccentrics which looks enchanting, fabulous, witty.
I wrote this poem this morning at about 2.30. I doubt its complete yet but as its about you this letter is the place for it.
The centreless dreams of people
Weighing a thousand beds with their flesh
Staining as many pillows with
The blood their phantasy ensures
Are not the dreams that line me
Which radiate from Sylvia
Like Minerva's statue in an academy
On flowers of hair from a woman's head combed

I'll try and give you the information Michael needs at the weekend thought I warn you that I have lived very much across the normal pattern of life. Half-student, half-poet.
Tonight we're having a meal in the room with an American student, a Californian, named Stuart. We have American tinned meats and chocolate, and fresh vegetables. i expect we'll to to the cinema later. I think of you. I love you. Oh it's less than a week to next Friday.
Smell of cooking increases.
I'm delighted you're painting again.
I adore you
Lawrence

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