Lois And Alexander Are By Far The

Hollywood's Two Polar Types Are The Cynically Drunken Writer Aggressively Nursing A Ten-year-old Reputation And The Theatrically Self-conscious Hermit Who Strides The Boulevard In Sandals, Home-made Shorts And A Prophetic Beard, Muttering Against The Age Of The Machines.

Horror Is Always Aware Of Its Cause; Terror Never Is. That Is Precisely What Makes Terror Terrifying.

I Am A Camera With Its Shutter Open, Quite Passive, Recording, Not Thinking. Recording The Man Shaving At The Window Opposite And The Woman In The Kimono Washing Her Hair. Some Day, All This Will Have To Be Developed, Carefully Printed, Fixed.

Waking Up Begins With Saying Am And Now. That Which Has Awoken Then Lies For A While Staring Up At The Ceiling And Down Into Itself Until It Has Recognized I, And Therefrom Deduced I Am, I Am Now. Here Comes Next, And Is At Least Negatively Reassuring; Because Here, This Morning, Is Where It Has Expected To Find Itself: What’s Called At Home.

I Doubt If One Ever Accepts A Belief Until One Urgently Needs It.