You See, Kenny, There Are Some Things

To Live Sanely In Los Angeles ... You Have To Cultivate The Art Of Staying Awake. You Must Learn To Resist (firmly But Not Tensely) The Unceasing Hypnotic Suggestions Of The Radio, The Billboards, The Movies And The Newspapers; Those Demon Voices Which Are Forever Whispering In Your Ear What You Should Desire, What You Should Fear, What You Should Wear And Eat And Drink And Enjoy, What You Should Think And Do And Be.

You See, Kenny, There Are Some Things You Don't Even Know You Know, Until You're Asked.

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.

Do You Think It Makes People Nasty To Be Loved? You Know It Doesn’t! Then Why Should It Make Them Nice To Be Loathed? While You’re Being Persecuted, You Hate What’s Happening To You, You Hate The People Who Are Making It Happen; You’re In A World Of Hate. Why, You Wouldn’t Recognize Love If You Met It! You’d Suspect Love! You’d Think There Was Something Behind It—some Motive—some Trick.

But Seriously, I Believe I'm A Sort Of Ideal Woman, If You Know What I Mean. I'm The Sort Of Woman Who Can Take Men Away From Their Wives, But I Could Never Keep Anybody For Long. And That's Because I'm The Type Which Every Man Imagines He Wants, Until He Gets Me; And Then He Finds He Doesn't Really, After All.