I am troubled, immeasurably by your eyes. I am struck by the feather of your soft reply. The sound of glass speaks quick, disdain and conceals what your eyes fight to explain.

We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.

Being drunk is a good disguise. I drink so I can talk to assholes. This includes me.

Give form to the passing World. Freeways are a drama.

That’s what real love amounts to - letting a person be what he really is....Most people love you for who you pretend to be....To keep their love, you keep pretending - performing. You get to love your pretense...It’s true, we’re locked in an image, an act...

...most of the press were vultures descending on the scene for curious America aplomb. Cameras inside the coffin interviewing worms.

Take an Indian home to lunch.