This wavering paradox is a pillar of the outlaw stance. A man who has blown all his options can’t afford the luxury of changing his ways. He has to capitalize on whatever he has left, and he can’t afford to admit-no matter how often he’s reminded of it-that every day of his life takes him farther down a blind alley.
You will be flogged for being right and flogged for being wrong, and it hurts both ways – but it doesn’t hurt as much when you’re right.
Life just seems too huge and too fascinating for me to begin thinking about curing my restlessness at this stage of the game. Maybe later.
Living on pills, phone calls unmade, people unseen, pages unwritten, money unmade, pressure piling up all around to make some kind of breakthrough and get moving again. Get the gum off the rails, finish something, croak this awful habit of not ever getting to the end- of anything.
Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?
These are bad times for people who like to sit outside the library at dawn on a rainy morning and get ripped to the tits on crank and powerful music.
As for LSD, I highly recommend it. We had a fine, wild weekend and no trouble at all. The feeling it produces is hard to describe. ‘Intensity’ is a fair word for it. Try half a cube at first, just sit in the living room and turn on the music – after the kids have gone to bed. But never take it in uncomfortable or socially tense situations. And don’t have anybody around whom you don’t like.
The line between madness and masochism was already hazy;.
This is one of the hallmarks of Vegas hospitality. The only bedrock rule is Don’t Burn the Locals. Beyond that, nobody cares. They would rather not know. If Charlie Manson checked into the Sahara tomorrow morning, nobody would hassle him as long as he tipped big.
Hey, honkies!” my attorney screamed. “Goddamnit, I’m serious! I want to sell you some pure fuckin’ smack!
I’m bound to go to heaven because I’ve already served my time in hell.
The only thing I ever saw that came close to Objective Journalism was a closed-circuit TV setup that watched shoplifters in the General Store at Woody Creek, Colorado.
If we start electing presidents on the basis of their sexual purity, some real monsters will get into the White House.
In a nation of frightened dullards there is a sorry shortage of outlaws, and those few who make the grade are always welcome:.
Fear? I know not fear. There are only moments of confusion.
The Circus-Circus is what the whole hep world would be doing on Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war. This is the Sixth Reich.
It was dangerous lunacy, but it was also the kind of thing a real connoisseur of edge-work could make an argument for.
ROSS PEROT was the best thing that happened in American politics since Richard Nixon acquired a taste for gin. In both cases, the political dialogue of the day was enriched by spontaneous gibberish that entertained the wrong people and made the right ones question their faith.
NOT EVERYBODY is comfortable with the idea that politics is a guilty addiction. But it is. They are addicts, and they are guilty and they do lie and cheat and steal – like all junkies. And when they get in a frenzy, they will sacrifice anything and anybody to feed their cruel and stupid habit, and there is no cure for it.
Flying United, to me, is like crossing the Andes in a prison bus. There is no question in my mind that somebody like Pat Nixon personally approves every United stewardess. Nowhere in the Western world is there anything to equal the collection of self-righteous shrews who staff the “friendly skies of United.” I do everything possible to avoid that airline, often at considerable cost and personal inconvenience.