We are content in the 'given' in sensation's quest. We have been metamorphosised from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark.

I think in art, but especially in films, people are trying to confirm their own existences.

I think, in these days, especially in the States, you have to be a politician or an assassin or something, to really be a superstar.

There are images I need to complete my own reality.

No one here gets out alive.

Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding/Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind.

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.