I was a man of the earth, precisely as I had dreamed I would be.

If critics say your work stinks it's because they want it to stink and they can make it stink by scaring you into conformity with their comfortable little standards. Standards so low that they can no longer be considered "dangerous" but set in place in their compartmental understandings.

We lay on our backs looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when he made life so sad and disinclined.

I didn't know what to say. I felt like crying, Goddammit everybody in the world wants an explanation for your acts and for your very being.

I like it because its ugly

Life is life, and kind is kind

No time for poetry but exactly what is.