when you're younga pair offemalehigh-heeled shoesjust sittingalonein the closetcan fire yourbones;when you're oldit's justa pair of shoeswithoutanybodyin themandjust aswell.

sometimes all we need to be able to continue aloneare the deadrattling the wallsthat close us in.

the world is better withoutthem.only the plants and the animals aretrue comrades.I drink to them and withthem.

I feel no grief for being called somethingwhichI am not;in fact, it's enthralling, somehow, like a goodback rub

I didn't know who tobelievebutone thing I doknow: when a man islivingmany claim relationshipsthat are hardlysoand after he dies, well,then it's everybody'sparty.

we are burning like a chicken wing left on the grill of an outdoor barbecuewe are unwanted and burning we are burning and unwanted we arean unwantedburningas we sizzle and fryto the bonethe coals of Dante's 'Inferno' spit and sputter beneathus andabove the sky is an open hand andthe words of wise men are uselessit's not a nice world, a nice world it's not ...

it does seemthe more we drinkthe better the wordsgo.

one doesn't even think ofthe liverand if the liverdoesn't think ofus, that'sfine.

I was gifted, am gifted. Sometimes I looked at my hands and realized that I could have been a great pianist or something. But what have my hands done? Scratched my balls, written checks, tied shoes, pushed toilet levers, etc. I have wasted my hands. And my mind.