We made love. How pedestrian the words look-trite, worn, practically featureless with use-but how can one better describe that which happens when it happens? That creation? That magic blending? I might say we became figures in a mesmerized dance before the rocking talisman of the moon, starting slow, so slow... a pair of feathers drifting through clear liquid substance of sky... gradually accelerating, faster and faster and finally into photon existence of pure light... as my whole straining body burst like fluid electricity into hers.

The job of the writer is to kiss no ass, no matter how big and holy and white and tempting and powerful.

He knows that there's no better way in the world to aggravate somebody who's trying to make it hard for you than by acting like you're not bothered.

Loved. You can't use it in the past tense. Death does not stop that love at all.

I've found psychedelics to be keys to worlds that have always existed, that have to be talked about.

He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears Another Drum

You've got to get out and pray to the sky to appreciate the sunshine; otherwise you're just a lizard standing there with the sun shining on you.