PRINT October 1968

A Reconstituted Diary: Greece, 1967

“WE WILL TRY TO MAKE this a fine event for you,” said the Captain over the intercom. What an easing thing to hear, especially among the vaguely nauseous uncertainties that my stomach and intestines are transmitting from one part of my brain to another. My seat is earth-rooted, but when I look out of the head-size, claustrophobic, rainbow-catching window I get a weird, disjointed, perplexing feeling. Going to Greece after nineteen years of dreams about returning. Reluctantly retrotting, not freely wanting to confront myself with the inevitable jangle between polished remembrances and dispassionate physical presences. Saw Hombre by dawn. Couldn’t decide which was better, the technicolor on the screen or in the sky. I should prepare myself for continuous evaluations. From the moment I entered the plane my overcast fears dissipated to a lower, further closet of consciousness. It wasn’t only

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