Williams wrote in his notebooks. “By the end, his diary writing has become a means of self-sedation. On planes, he scurries to the lavatory to drink from his contraband flask of liquor, and scribbles as he does so. ‘Now we are rocking a bit,’ he woozily notices. Turbulence or delirium tremens? In one of the last entries, he asks an almost posthumous question: ‘Did I die by my own hand or was I destroyed slowly and brutally by a conspiratorial group?”