And before me was the great raw bulge and bulk of my American continent; somewhat far across, gloomy, crazy New York was throwing up its cloud of dust and brown steam. There is something brown and holy about the East; and California is white like washlines and emptyheaded - at least that's what I thought then.

My witness is the empty sky.

I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.

It no longer makes me cry and die and tear myself to see her go because everything goes away from me like that now — girls, visions, anything, just in the same way and forever and I accept lostness forever.

It is possible for the human spirit to win after all.

As far as I'm concerned the only thing to do is sit in a room and get drunk

I want a blaze of light to flame in me forever in a timeless, dear love of everything. And why should I pretend to want anything else?