This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice.

I only believe in fire. Life. Fire. Being myself on fire I set others on fire. Never death. Fire and life.

When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow.

There is not one big cosmic meaning for all, there is only the meaning we each give to our life, an individual meaning, an individual plot, like an individual novel, a book for each person.

The value of the personal relationship to all things is that it creates intimacy and intimacy creates understanding and understanding creates love.

We also write to heighten our own awareness of life... We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection... We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it...to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely... When I don't write, I feel my world shrinking... I feel I lose my fire and my color.

I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.