The hero surviving his own murder, his own suicide, his own addiction, surviving his own disappearance from the scene

To gain your own voice, forget about having it heard. Become a saint of your own province and your own consciousness.

First thought, best thought.

I really would like to stop working forever–never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I’m doing now–and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I’d like to keep living with someone — maybe even a man — and explore relationships that way. And cultivate my perceptions, cultivate the visionary thing in me. Just a literary and quiet city-hermit existence.

Candor disarms paranoia.

The combination of drugs, homosexuality, some good prose recited on screen. . . . In the sweat lodge ceremony we went through, did you get any glimpse of the Ugly Spirit, what that was historically or biographically?

I don't do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.