As Far As A Truly Radical Conscience,

The Ultimate Sin Of Any Performer Is Contempt For The Audience.

I'm Really Schizophrenic About That, Because On The One Hand I Would Say, Yes There Is, There's Something Inherently, Even Violent About It, It's Wild And Raw And All This.

The Only Questions Worth Asking Today Are Whether Humans Are Going To Have Any Emotions Tomorrow, And What The Quality Of Life Will Be If The Answer Is No.

I'll Probably Never Produce A Masterpiece, But So What? I Feel I Have A Sound Aborning, Which Is My Own, And That Sound If Erratic Is Still My Greatest Pride, Because I Would Rather Write Like A Dancer Shaking My Ass To Boogaloo Inside My Head, And Perhaps Reach Only Readers Who Like To Use Books To Shake Their Asses, Than To Be Or Write For The Man Cloistered In A Closet Somewhere Reading Aeschylus While This Stupefying World Careens Crazily Past His Waxy Windows Toward Its Last Raving Sooty Feedback Pirouette.

Style Is Originality; Fashion Is Fascism. The Two Are Eternally And Unalterably Opposed.