who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism

The apparition of an evil, sick unconscious wild city rose before me in visible semblance, and about the dead buildings in the barren air, the bodies of the soul that built the wonderland shuffled and stalked and stalked and lurched in attitudes of immemorial nightmare all around.

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

Candor disarms paranoia.

It's time we did something to assert ourselves. After all, we do comprise 10% of the population.

I had a moment of clarity, saw the feeling in the heart of things, walked out to the garden crying.

…we’re all beautiful golden sunflowers inside, we’re all blessed by our own seed & golden hairy naked accomplishment (Sunflower Sutra)