Well, we're meant to be writing stories today.
Who said anything about slicing you up?. . . I just wanted to carve a little Z on your forehead-- nothing serious.
Breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned beef hash with diced chiles, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of Key lime pie, two margaritas, and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert.
The mind of America is seized by a fatal dry rot - and it's only a question of time before all that the mind controls will run amuck in a frenzy of stupid, impotent fear.
I miss Nixon. Compared to these Nazis we have in the White House now, Richard Nixon was a flaming liberal.
Call on God, but row away from the rocks.
I wasn't trying to be an outlaw writer. I never heard of that term; somebody else made it up. But we were all outside the law: Kerouac, Miller, Burroughs, Ginsberg, Kesey; I didn't have a gauge as to who was the worst outlaw. I just recognized allies: my people.
It is through our anger and hatred that we transform people into enemies.
If I can pay the bills, I'm happy.
Today I fell asleep reading a book. The book is called INSOMNIA. I win.
I don't like the triumphalism of the American narrative, this kind of "chosen people" complex that American people have, so it's inspiring to see people snub their noses at the American empire and succeed.