Violence isn’t always evil.
What’s evil is the infatuation with violence.
We fear violence less than our own feelings.
Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.
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.
I wouldn’t mind dying in a plane crash.
It’d be a good way to go.
I don’t want to die in my sleep, or of old age, or OD… I want to feel what it’s like.
I want to taste it, hear it, smell it.
Death is only going to happen to you once; I don’t want to miss it.
Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes.
You are free.
Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities.
There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors.
Open 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.
It’s like gambling somehow.
You go out for a night of drinking and you don’t know where you’re going to end up the next day.
It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It’s like the throw of the dice.
I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown.
Drugs are a bet with your mind.
I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos – especially activity that seems to have no meaning – like this.
It seems to me to be the road toward freedom…
Rather than starting inside, I start outside and reach the mental through the physical.