Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?
I just won't sleep," I decided. There were so many other interesting things to do.
It was all completely serious, all completely hallucinated, all completely happy.
And when the fog's over and the stars and the moon come out at night it'll be a beautiful sight.
In all this welter of women I still hadn't got one for myself, not that I was trying too hard, but sometimes I felt lonely to see everybody paired off and having a good time and all I did was curl up in my sleeping bag in the rosebushes and sigh and say bah. For me it was just red wine in my mouth and a pile of firewood
And what does the rain say at night in a small town, what does the rain have to say? Who walks beneath dripping melancholy branches listening to the rain? Who is there in the rain’s million-needled blurring splash, listening to the grave music of the rain at night, September rain, September rain, so dark and soft? Who is there listening to steady level roaring rain all around, brooding and listening and waiting, in the rain-washed, rain-twinkled dark of night?
Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy
Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea.
No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
I was a man of the earth, precisely as I had dreamed I would be.
Burroughs is the greatest satirical writer since Jonathan Swift.
-no girl had ever moved me with a story of spiritual suffering and so beautifully her soul showing out radiant as an angel wandering in hell and the hell the selfsame streets I'd roamed in watching, watching for someone just like her and never dreaming the darkness and the mystery and eventuality of our meeting in eternity.
all day long wearing a hat that wasn't on my head
The cause of the world's woe is birth, the cure of the world's woe is a bent stick.
The human bones are but vain lines dawdling, the whole universe a blank mold of stars.
Prison is where you promise yourself the right to live.
Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind.
cliches are truisms and all truisms are true
Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.
There is a blessedness surely to be believed, and that is that everything abides in eternal ecstasy, now and forever.
Details are the Life of Prose.
Somewhere along the line, the pearl would be handed to me.
You don't realize what a strain it is on the nerves to write or think-of-writing all day long, and to sleep full of nervous dreams, and to wake up not knowing who one is: this all stems from anxiety about finishing the book, about time 'growing short', etc., and the perpetual strain of invention.
I felt the sensation of each of the directions I mentally and emotionally turned into amazed at all the possible directions you can take with different motives that come in like it can make you a different person — I’ve often thought of this since childhood of suppose instead of going up Columbus as I usually did I’d turn into Filbert would something happen that at the time is insignificant enough but would be like enough to influence my whole life in the end? — What’s in store for me in the direction I don’t take?
All our best men are laughed at in this nightmare land.
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