There is an inverse relationship between imagination and money.
I despise the comic industry, but I will always love the comic medium.
The more I look at most of the art movements, it’s all occultism, when you get down to it. The Surrealists were openly talking about being magicians.
The Here-and-Now demands attention, is more present to us. We dismiss the inner world of our ideas as less important, although most of our immediate physical reality originated only in the mind. The TV, sofa, clock and room, the whole civilisation that contains them once were nothing save ideas.
The entire universe – for one thing – only exists in your perceptions. That’s all you’re gonna see of it. To all practical intents and purposes this is purely some kind of lightshow that’s being put on in the kind of neurons in our brain. The whole of reality.
Nothing ends, Adrian. Nothing ever ends.
It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses, and apologized to no one.
I’m the idea of the human imagination, which, when you think about it, is the only thing we can really be certain ISN’T imaginary.
Our consciousness, a startling outgrowth of the universe, is possibly its most important part, the fraction of existence that can think, feel, marvel at itself.
Consciousness, unprovable by scientific standards, is forever, then, the impossible phantom in the predictable biologic machine, and your every thought a genuine supernatural event. Your every thought is a ghost, dancing.
As I see it, part of the art of being a hero is knowing when you don’t need to be one anymore.
As I come to understand Vietnam and what it implies about the human condition, I also realize that few humans will permit themselves such an understanding.
We are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later.
It’s early days. A few skeletons are bound to keep jumping out of the closet.
Nothing’s that simple, not even things that are simply awful.
The superman exists and he’s American.
It’s cold and it’s mean spirited and I don’t like it here anymore.
I leave the human cockroaches to discuss their heroin and child pornography.
Now everything is wonderful and hazardous and nothing’s hypothetical.
Famously, there’s not really anywhere to go after nihilism. It’s not progressing toward anything, it’s a statement of outrage, however brilliant.