The human bones are but vain lines dawdling, the whole universe a blank mold of stars.
Don't touch me, I'm full of snakes.
Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind.
They were like the man with the dungeon stone and gloom, rising from the underground, the sordid hipsters of America, a new beat generation that I was slowly joining.
The only truth is music.
Rather, I think one should write, as nearly as possible, as if he were the first person on earth and was humbly and sincerly putting on paper that which he saw and experienced and loved and lost; what his passing thoughts were and his sorrows and desires.