I'd Rather Be Thin Than Famous But

I Think It's All Lovely Hallucination But I Love It Sorta.

There Are Worse Things Than Being Mad.

Mind Is The Maker, For No Reason At All, For All This Creation, Created To Fall.

The Air Was So Sweet In New Orleans It Seemed To Come In Soft Bandannas; And You Could Smell The River And Really Smell The People, And Mud, And Molasses, And Every Kind Of Tropical Exhalation, With Your Nose Suddenly Removed From The Dry Ices Of A Northern Winter.

Let The Mind Beware, That Though The Flesh Be Bugged, The Circumstances Of Existence Are Pretty Glorious.