I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.

To create art means to be crazy alone forever.

Most people are not ready for death, theirs or anybody elses.

I was their bar freak, they needed me to make themselves feel better. just like, at times, I needed that graveyard.

The years have gone by quickly. Death sits in the seat next to me. We make a lovely couple.

Human relationships are strange. I mean, you are with one person a while, eating and sleeping and living with them, loving them, talking to them, going places together, and then it stops.

It's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse... no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies... not the death of his love but the shoelace that snaps with no time left.