I Doubt If One Ever Accepts A

For A Few Minutes, Maybe, Life Lingers In The Tissues Of Some Outlying Regions Of The Body. Then, One By One, The Lights Go Out And There Is Total Blackness. And Ifsome Part Of The Non—entity We Called George Has Indeed Been Absent At This Moment Of Terminal Shock, Away Out There On The Deep Water, Then It Will Return To Find Itself Homeless.

If It’s Going To Be A World With No Time For Sentiment, It’s Not A World That I Want To Live In.

Hollywood's Two Polar Types Are The Cynically Drunken Writer Aggressively Nursing A Ten-year-old Reputation And The Theatrically Self-conscious Hermit Who Strides The Boulevard In Sandals, Home-made Shorts And A Prophetic Beard, Muttering Against The Age Of The Machines.

No One Ever Hates Without A Cause.

I Am A Camera With Its Shutter Open, Quite Passive, Recording, Not Thinking. Recording The Man Shaving At The Window Opposite And The Woman In The Kimono Washing Her Hair. Some Day, All This Will Have To Be Developed, Carefully Printed, Fixed.