nemy. In a strange, impersonal way it has become my enemy for
though it does not hate, it threatens my life. My waking hours are hell
and my sleep is nightmare. Strange how a man clings to life and sanity.
It would be so easy to lose either. Of one thing I am certain--this
cannot go on much longer. I cannot work under pressure. I must act. I
shall try again to find my enemy and kill it before it kills me. It is
no longer a question of ...

... Never again shall I wish to be alone. If I get out of this alive I
am going to haunt crowds. I will surround myself with people. Right now
I would give my soul to have one--just one--person near me. Anyone. I
feel certain that two of us could face this thing and lick it. If
necessary we could face it back to back, each covering the other. I am
now getting impressions. Sensory hallucinations. I am floating. I swim.
I bathe luxuriantly in huge bathtubs and the water runs through my body
as though I were a sponge. Have you ever felt _porous_?...

... and that last attack was a doozer! I wrecked a week's work looking
for the little man who wasn't there. The urge to kill is becoming more
intense. I want to destroy the author of my misery. Even though I am
still a balanced personality--polite language for being sane--I can't
take much more of this. I will not go mad, but I will go into the
adrenal syndrome unless I can end this soon.

Nothing I have done seems to help. For a while I was sure that the music
tapes held the pressure back, but the enemy is used to them now. I am
still working on the subspace beacon. The radio and most of the control
linkages have gone into it. It looks like an electronicist's nightmare,
but if the survival manual is right, it will work. It has to work! I
dread the time when I shall have to cannibalize the recorder. Can't
help thinking that Shakespeare was right when he wrote that bit about
music soothing the savage breast. It may not soothe the enemy, for it
isn't savage, but it certainly soothes me, even though there's something
repetitive about it after a half a hundred playings. My breast's savage
all right. Fact is, it's downright primitive when an attack starts. I
can feel them coming now. I keep wondering how much longer I can last.
Guess I'm getting morbid....

More nightmares last night. I drowned three times and a purple octopus
gave me an enema. Woke up screaming, but got an idea from it. Funny that
I never thought of it before. Water's the fou