I am troubled, immeasurablyby your eyes. I am struck by the featherof your soft reply.The sound of glassspeaks quick, disdainand concealswhat your eyes fightto explain.
I think the highest and lowest points are the important ones. Anything else is just…in between.
Some of the worst mistakes in my life were haircuts
I’ve noticed that when people are joking they’re usually dead serious, and when they’re serious, they’re usually pretty funny.
Actually I don’t remember being born, it must have happened during one of my black outs.
I’ll never wake up in a good mood again.I’m tired of these stinky boots
We’re reaching for death on the end of a candle We’re trying for something that’s already found us
There are things known and there are things unknownand in between are the doors.
Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.
If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it’s to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.
Door of passage to the other side, the soul frees itself in stride.
The future is uncertain but the end is always near.
Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.
We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.
A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.
Love is a dream. Dreams are good, but do not be surprised if you wake up in tears.
The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.
Through art they confuse us and blind us to our enslavement. Art adorns our prison walls, keeps us silent and diverted and indifferent.
I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown which always forces me to blow it at the most important moments.
We are content with 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.
It is wrong to assume that art needs the spectator in order to be. The film runs on without any eyes. The spectator cannot exist without it. It insures his existence.
I love the friends I have gathered together on this thin raft…
The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun…
She dances in a ring of fire and throws off the challenge with a shrug.
She dances in a ring of fire and throws of the challenge with a shrug.
I’m gonna love you Till the heavens Stop the rain.I’m gonna Love you Till the stars Fall from the sky For you and I
A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself-and especially to feel, or not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at any moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is.
What have they done to the earth?What have they done to our fair sister?Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit herStuck her with knives in the side of the dawnAnd tied her with fences and dragged her down
Do you know we are being led toSlaughters by placid admirals& that fat slow generals are gettingObscene on young bloodDo you know we are ruled by t.v.
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light? Or just another lost angel… City of Night?
Let’s swim to the moonLet’s climb through the tideSurrender to the waiting worldsThat lap against our side.
O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.
In the holy solipsism of the youngNow I can’t walk thru a citystreet w/out eying eachsingle pedestrian. I feelthier vibe thru myskin, the hair on my neck— it rises.
When you make your peace with authority you become authority.
People fear death even more than pain. It’s strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend.
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.
Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it’s usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move. We cripple ourselves with lies.
I think in art, but especially in films, people are trying to confirm their own existences.
When you make your peace with authority, you become authority.
Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.
The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask.
I’m interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos, especially activity that appears to have no meaning. It seems to me to be the road toward freedom.