The world becomes an apparently infinite, yet possibly finite, card game. Image combinations, permutations, comprise the world game.

If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.

The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun.

The spectator is a dying animal.

the time to hesitate is through no time to wallowin the mire Try now we can only lose and our love become a funeral pyre

I like to let each thing happen - direct it a little consciously, maybe - but just kind of follow the vibrations I get in each particular circumstance. We don't plan theatrics. We hardly ever know which set we'll play.

Maybe primitive people have less bullshit to let go of, to give up. A person has to be willing to give up everything—not just wealth. All the bullshit he's been taught—all society's brainwashing. You have to let go of all that to get to the other side. Most people aren't willing to do that.