People are strange when you’re a stranger.

I’ve noticed that when people are joking they’re usually dead serious, and when they’re serious, they’re usually pretty funny.

Why the desire for death.A clean paper or pure white wall.One false line, a scratch, a mistake.Unerasable. So obscureby adding million other tracings, blend it, cover over.But the original scratch remains, written in gold blood,...

Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.

People fear death even more than they fear pain. It’s strange that they fear death. Life hurts more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over.

Actually I don’t remember being born, it must have happened during one of my black outs.

In the holy solipsism of the youngNow I can’t walk thru a citystreet w/out eying eachsingle pedestrian. I feelthier vibe thru myskin, the hair on my neck— it rises.

If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it’s to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.

The future is uncertain but the end is always near.

People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is...

What have they done to the earth?What have they done to our fair sister?Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit herStuck her with knives in the side of the dawnAnd tied her with fences...

Door of passage to the other side, the soul frees itself in stride.

I love the friends I have gathered together on this thin raft…

No one here gets out alive.

Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light? Or just another lost angel… City of Night?

I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown which always forces me to blow it at the most important moments.

You feel your strength in the experience of pain.

I think the highest and lowest points are the important ones. Anything else is just…in between.

Where’s your will to be weird?

Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.

We are content with the ‘given’ in sensation’s quest. We have been metamorphosised from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark.

This is the strangest life I have ever known.

People are strange . . .

A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.

The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun…

Is everybody in? Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin. The entertainment for this evening is not new, you’ve seen this entertainment through and through you have seen your birth,...

Drugs are a bet with your mind.

We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.

Whoever controls the media, controls the mind

The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to...

Through art they confuse us and blind us to our enslavement. Art adorns our prison walls, keeps us silent and diverted and indifferent.

That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is. Most people love you for who you pretend to be. To keep their love, you keep pretending – performing. You...

Sleep is an under-ocean dipped into each night.

I’ll never wake up in a good mood again.I’m tired of these stinky boots

It is wrong to assume that art needs the spectator in order to be. The film runs on without any eyes. The spectator cannot exist without it. It insures his existence.

I am troubled, immeasurablyby your eyes. I am struck by the featherof your soft reply.The sound of glassspeaks quick, disdainand concealswhat your eyes fightto explain.

Do you know we are being led toSlaughters by placid admirals& that fat slow generals are gettingObscene on young bloodDo you know we are ruled by t.v.

We’re reaching for death on the end of a candle We’re trying for something that’s already found us

The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.

Some of the worst mistakes in my life were haircuts

O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.

There are things known and there are things unknownand in between are the doors.