We are all exposed to the flash bulb of death.
Ultimately Warhol’s private moral reference was to the supreme kitsch of the Catholic church.
Truth is dissent, where all power resides in the Big Lie.
I want to be a saint, a real saint while I am young, for there is so much work to do.
Everything is holy! everybody’s holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman’s an angel!
America, how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
Naked in solitary prison cell he looks down at a hard-on.
I know I’m not God, are you? Don’t be silly. God? God? Everybody’s God? Don’t be silly.
Things are symbols of themselves.
Many seek and never see, anyone can tell them why. O they weep and O they cry and never take until they try unless they try it in their sleep and never some until they die. I ask many, they ask me. This is a great mystery.
The soul is innocent and immortal, it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse.
It’s time we did something to assert ourselves. After all, we do comprise 10% of the population.
Others can measure their visions by what we see.
Subject is known by what she sees.
What came is gone forever every time.
No rest without love, no sleep without dreams of love- be mad or chill obsessed with angels or machines, the final wish is love -cannot be bitter, cannot deny, cannot withhold if denied: the weight is too heavy.
When it snows in your nose, you catch cold in your brain.
I didn’t know the names of the flowers – now my garden is gone.
When you notice something clearly and see it vividly, it then becomes sacred.
My books piled up before me for my use waiting in space where I placed them, they haven’t disappeared, time’s left its remnants and qualities for me to use – my words piled up, my texts, my manuscripts, my loves.