One fast move or I'm gone,' I realize, gone the way of the last three years of drunken hopelessness which is a physical and spiritual and metaphysical hopelessness you can't learn in school no matter how many books on existentialism or pessimisn you read, or how many jugs of vision-producing Ayahuasca drink, or Mescaline take, or Peyote goop up with -

I'm stuck struggling in the cold water, and all I can do is grieve, grieve, in the hoar necessitous horror of the morning, bitterly I hate myself, bitterly it's too late yet while I feel better I still feel ephemeral and unreal and unable to straighten my thoughts or even really grieve, in fact I feel too stupid to be really bitter, in short I don't know what I'm doing and I'm being told what to do.

Never mistake talking about writing for actual writing.

The best teacher is experience and not through someone's distorted point of view

And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.

When you've understood this scripture, throw it away. If you can't understand this scripture, throw it away. I insist on your freedom.

And then we’ll all go off to sweet life, ‘cause now is the time and we all know time!