Bokelskere.no

"I'll always remember that hotel in Paris. we were all there. kaja, Nal Horse, Burroughs... the greatest literary minds of our generation." "do you think it helped your writing, Mr. L?" I asked. it was a stupid question. he looked at me sternly, then allowed me to watch him smile, "everything helps my writing."

[...] I realize I switch from present to past tense, and if you don't like it... ram a nipple up your scrotum. - printer: leave this in.)

[...] you say you feel this madness. what do you do when it comes upon you?

I write poetry.

is poetry madness?

non-poetry is ugliness.

what is ugly?

to each man, someting different.

does ugliness belong?

it's there.

does it belong?

I don't know, sir.

you pretend knowledge. what is knowledge?

knowing as little as possible.

how can that be?

I don't know, sir.

can you build a bridge?

no, sir.

can you make a gun?

no, sir.

these things are the products of knowledge.

these things are bridges and guns.

and I was out of New York, almost alive.