A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.
A man searching for paradise lost can seem a fool to those who never sought the other world.
A quality of ignorance, self-deception may be necessary to the poet’s survival.
Actually I don’t remember being born, It must have happened during one of my black outs.
Adolf Hitler is still alive… I slept with her last night.
All our songs are about love, travel and death.
Alright listen man, we got a special treat for you now. This is a little tour-de-force that we’ve only done a couple times in front of strangers, and it starts off kinda quiet, so if everybody just kinda relax, take a few deep breaths, think about your eventual end and what’s gonna happen tonight; and we’ll try and do something good to your head, right man? I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but this whole evening is being taped for eternity and beyond that too. And so listen man, if you want to be represented in eternity with some uncouth language then I hope you’ll stand up on the top of your seat and shout it out very clearly or we’re not going to get it on tape. Don’t worry, the operation won’t take long and you’ll feel much better in the morning.
Always a playground instructor, never a Killer.
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light? Or just another lost angel… City of Night?
As I look back… over my life… I am struck by post cards… ruined snapshots… faded posters… of a time.. I can’t recall.
Being drunk is a good disguise. I drink so I can talk to assholes. This includes me.
Between childhood, boyhood, adolescence and manhood there should be sharp lines drawn with tests, deaths feats, rites, stories, songs and judgments.
Blake said that the body was the soul’s prison unless the five senses are fully developed and open. He considered the senses the ‘windows of the soul.’ When sex involves all the senses intensely, it can be like a mystical experience.
Cinema has evolved in two paths. One is spectacle. Like the phantasmagoria, its goal is the creation of a total substitute sensory world. The other is peep show, which claims for its realm both the erotic and the untampered observance of real life, and imitates the keyhole or voyeur’s window without need of color, noise, grandeur.
Cinema returns us to anima, religion of matter, which gives each thing its special divinity and sees gods in all things and beings. Cinema, heir of alchemy, last of an erotic science.
Could any Hell be more horrible than now, and real?
Cure blindness with a whore’s spittle.
Death is only going to happen to you once; I don’t want to miss it.
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.
Dreams are at once fruit and outcry against an atrophy of the senses.
Drugs are a bet with your mind.
Each generation wants new symbols, new people, new names. They want to divorce themselves from their predecessors.
Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.
Few would defend a small view of Alchemy as ‘Mother of Chemistry’, and confuse its true goal with those external metal arts. Alchemy is an erotic science, involved in buried aspects of reality, aimed at purifying and transforming all being and matter. Not to suggest that material operations are ever abandoned. The adept holds to both the mystical and physical work.
Film confers a kind of spurious eternity.
Film spectators are quiet vampires.
Films are collections of dead pictures which are given artificial insemination.
For me, it was never really an act, those so-called performances. It was a life-and-death thing, an attempt to communicate…
Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself-and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amounts to-letting a person be what he really is.
Hatred is a very underestimated emotion.
I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos-especially activity that seems to have no meaning. It seems to me to be the road toward freedom… Rather than starting inside, I start outside and reach the mental through the physical.
I am the lizard king. I can do anything.
I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown.
I hope you people are happy, because you people just screwed the borough.
I like any reaction I can get with my music. Just anything to get people to think. I mean if you can get a whole room full of drunk, stoned people to actually wake up and think, you’re doing something.
I like ideas about the breaking away or overthrowing of established order. I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos, especially activity that seems to have no meaning. It seems to me to be the road towards freedom – external freedom is a way to bring about internal freedom.
I like people who shake other people up and make them feel uncomfortable.
I love the friends I have gathered together on this thin raft.
I see myself as a huge fiery comet, a shooting star. Everyone stops, points up and gasps: ‘Oh look at that!’ Then – whoosh, and I’m gone… and they’ll never see anything like it ever again… and they won’t be able to forget me – ever.
I see myself as an intelligent, sensitive human, with the soul of a clown which forces me to blow it at the most important moments.
I think in art, but especially in films, people are trying to confirm their own existences.
I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown which always forces me to blow it at the most important moments.
I think the highest and lowest points are the important ones. Anything else is just…in between. I want the freedom to try everything.
I think, in these days, especially in the States, you have to be a politician or an assassin or something, to really be a superstar.
I was stoned. It seemed like a fun thing to do at the time.
I wouldn’t mind dying in a plane crash. It’d be a good way to go. I don’t want to die in my sleep, or of old age, or OD… I want to feel what it’s like. I want to taste it, hear it, smell it. Death is only going to happen to you once; I don’t want to miss it.
If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it’s to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.
I’ll never wake up in a good mood again. I’m tired of these stinky boots.
I’m always a bit suspicious when lyricists call themselves poets.
I’m interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos, especially activity that appears to have no meaning. It seems to me to be the road toward freedom.
I’m kind of hooked to the game of art and literature; my heroes are artists and writers.
In the womb we are blind cave fish.
Indian, Indian what did you die for?
Is everybody in? Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin. The entertainment for this evening is not new, you’ve seen this entertainment through and through you have seen your birth, your life, your death… you may recall all the rest. Did you have a good world when you died? Enough to base a movie on?
It is wrong to assume that art needs the spectator in order to be. The film runs on without any eyes. The spectator cannot exist without it. It insures his existence.
It may have been in pieces, but I gave you the best of me.
It’s like gambling somehow. You go out for a night of drinking and you don’t know where your going to end up the next day. It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It’s like the throw of the dice.
I’ve always liked reptiles. I used to see the universe as a mammoth snake, and I used to see all the people and objects, landscapes, as little pictures in the facets of their scales. I think peristaltic motion is the basic life movement. Swallowing,
I’ve noticed that when people are joking they’re usually dead serious, and when they’re serious, they’re usually pretty funny.
Let’s just say I was testing the bounds of reality. I was curious to see what would happen. That’s all it was: curiosity.
Let’s reinvent the gods, all the myths of the ages. Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests.
Listen, real poetry doesn’t say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.
Love cannot save you from your own fate.
Man, I’m sick of doubt.
More or less, we’re all afflicted with the psychology of the voyeur. Not in a strictly clinical or criminal sense, but in our whole physical and emotional stance before the world. Whenever we seek to break this spell of passivity, our actions are cruel and awkward and generally obscene, like an invalid who has forgotten to walk.
Music inflames temperament.
Music is a pure expression of joy.
No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn.
No one here gets out alive.
No one thought up being. He who thinks he has, step forward.
Out here on the perimeter there are no stars. Out here we is stoned. Immaculate.
People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.
People fear death even more than pain. It’s strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend.
Real poetry doesn’t say anything, it just ticks off possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.
Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it’s usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move. We cripple ourselves with lies.
Some of the worst mistakes of my life have been haircuts.
That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is. Most people love you for who you pretend to be. To keep their love, you keep pretending – performing. You get to love your pretence. It’s true, we’re locked in an image, an act – and the sad thing is, people get so used to their image, they grow attached to their masks. They love their chains. They forget all about who they really are. And if you try to remind them, they hate you for it, they feel like you’re trying to steal their most precious possession.
The appeal of cinema lies in the fear of death.
The future’s uncertain and the end is always near.
The Lords. Events take place beyond our knowledge or control. Our lives are lived for us. We can only try to enslave others. But gradually, special perceptions are being developed. The idea of the ‘Lords’ is beginning to form in some minds. We should enlist them into bands of perceivers to tour the labyrinth during their mysterious nocturnal appearances. The Lords have secret entrances and they know disguises. But they give themselves away in minor ways. Too much glint of light in the eye. A wrong gesture. Too long and curious a glance.
The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask.
The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.
The spectator is a dying animal.
The subject says ‘I see first lots of things which dance – then everything becomes gradually connected’.
The time to hesitate is through.
The voyeur is masturbator, the mirror his badge, the window his prey.
The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun.
There are images I need to complete my own reality.
There are no laws, there are no rules, just grab your friend and love him.
There are things known and things unknown and in between are the doors.
There may be a time when we’ll attend Weather Theatres to recall the sensation of rain.
There’s nothing wrong with being a large mammal.
They can picture love affairs of chemicals and stars, a romance of stones, or the fertility of fire. Strange, fertile correspondences the alchemists sensed in unlikely orders of being. Between men and planets, plants and gestures, words and weather.
Think of us as erotic politicians.
This is the strangest life I’ve ever known.
Those first few songs I wrote, I was taking notes at a fantastic rock concert going on in my head.
Time to live, time to lie, time to laugh, and time to die. Take it easy baby. Take it as it comes.
Violence isn’t always evil. What’s evil is the infatuation with violence.
We are from the West. The world we suggest should be of a new wild West, a sensuous, evil world, strange and haunting. The path of the sun.
We are not talking about no revolution! I’m not talking about no demonstration! I’m talking about having some fun! I’m talking about dancing! I’m talking about love your neighbor ’til it hurts! I’m talking about love! (…) This is your show, anything you want goes!
We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.
We must tie all these desperate impressions together.
When play dies it becomes the Game When sex dies it becomes Climax.
When you make your peace with authority, you become authority.
Where’s your will to be weird?
Whoever controls the media, controls the mind.
You feel your strength in the experience of pain.
You’re all a bunch of fuckin’ slaves!