Where are the feasts we were promised? Where is the wine, the new wine, dying on the vine.

The future is uncertain but the end is always near.

There are things known and things unknown and in between are The Doors.

Nobody would stay interested in me if I was normal

Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.

I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos, especially activity that seems to have no meaning.

Getting drunk . . . you're in complete control up to a point. It's your choice, every time you take a sip. You have a lot of small choices. It's like . . . I guess it's the difference between suicide and slow capitulation . . .