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

I know too much and not enough

To get on screen with the Talking Asshole, quite a feat. And it's certainly going to be a cult film that people will be seeing.

The whole blear world of smoke and twisted steel around my head in a railroad car, and my mind wandering past the rust into futurity: I saw the sun go down in a carnal and primeval world, leaving darkness to cover my railroad train because the other side of the world was waiting for dawn.

Others can measure their visions by what we see.

So I had a choice between going to a jail or going to a bughouse like a nice young middle-class student. So I chose to go to a very polite mental hospital. When I left eight months later, they said, 'You were never psychotic. You were just an average neurotic.'

Candor disarms paranoia.