If you want to know where God is, ask a drunk.

There's a light somewhere. It may not be much light but it beats the darkness.

The pest, in a sense, is a very superior being to us: he knows where to find us and how--usually in the bath or in sexual intercourse or asleep.

We have wasted History like a bunch of drunks shooting dice back in the men's crapper of the local bar.

alone with everybody the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and them men drink too much and nobody finds the one but they keep looking crawling in and out of beds. flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than flesh. there's no chance at all: we are all trapped by a singular fate. nobody ever finds the one. the city dumps fill the junkyards fill the madhouses fill the hospitals fill the graveyards fill nothing else fills.

Censorship is the tool of those who have the need to hide actualities from themselves and from others.

my hands dead my heart dead silence adagio of rocks the world ablaze that's the best for me.