The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction.
The first person who really showed me the ugly spirit was Brion Gysin. "The ugly spirit shot Joan because . . ." and I never found out why. This Brion wrote out on a piece of paper in a sort of trance state.
The soul is innocent and immortal, it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse.
Naked in solitary prison cell he looks down at a hard-on.
All these books are published in Heaven.
Last Exit to Brooklyn should explode like a rusty hellish bombshell over America and still be eagerly read in a hundred years.