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Mary Butts Diary Entry Monday, 4 July 1921
More hashish—the slow rate of vibration makes one see each preoccupation of one’s thought, one after the other, detached from the obscure vitality that links them. But each is seen without relation to the parts, and the result is the most awful boredom and disgust.
This, I suppose, is ‘solve.’ One [illegible] each particular. I gained near control and could recall an idea, or even more than one, which had passed, in the sequence. But I cannot control an image—I can watch the sequence of an oak tree, [illegible] with every stylistic variety of the idea of an oak.
Have to remember. The Egyptian [illegible]. The formula for the [illegible] and new Aeon—e.g.
Osiris dead.
Isis weeping.
Osiris risen.
Crowned Horus.
Over and over again, hashish acts on what is there already. My excitement to pick two times supplied the visions—Now, no excitement, so All I can do is analyse a head full of worthless Scurlings.
Two ways of going back.
I. Watching the sequence, pleasant and [illegible].
II. Understanding that it is the excitement that made the hashish visionary. The Sicilian hills are classic remembrances. (They are anyhow, but it’s the illumination of excitement that gets them across). i.e. that excitement will give quality to anything.
I begin to understand my old horror of Jimmy’s tolerance.
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