“Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather.”
“I detested that type of swinging… Strangers when you meet, strangers when you part - a gymnasium of bodies namelessly masturbating each other. People with no morals often considered themselves more free, but mostly they lacked the ability to feel or to love. So they became swingers. The dead fucking the dead. There was no gamble or humor in their game - it was corpse fucking corpse.” — Women, 1978
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“I like your ass and your hair,” I said, “and your lips and your eyes and your wine and your place and your joints. But I’m not in order.”
“You write a lot about women.”
“I know. I wonder sometimes what I will write about after that.”
“Maybe it won’t stop.”
“Everything stops.”
She took a hit and then I kissed her. I pulled her head back by the hair. I forced her lips open. It was a long one. Then I let her go.
“You like that, don’t you?” she asked.
“To me it’s more personal and sexual than fucking.”
“I think you’re right,” she said.
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