Alcohol Tells Truth, But Its Truth Is

Man Is A Flux Of States Of Consciousness, A Flow Of Passing Thoughts, Each Thought Of Self Another Self, A Myriad Thoughts, A Myriad Selves, A Continual Becoming But Never Being, A Will-of-the-wisp Flitting Of Ghosts In Ghostland.

I Early Learned That There Were Two Natures In Me. This Caused Me A Great Deal Of Trouble, Till I Worked Out A Philosophy Of Life And Struck A Compromise Between The Flesh And The Spirit. Too Great An Ascendancy Of Either Was To Be Abnormal, And Since Normality Is Almost A Fetish Of Mine, I Finally Succeeded In Balancing Both Natures. Ordinarily They Are At Equilibrium; Yet As Frequently As One Is Permitted To Run Rampant, So Is The Other. I Have Small Regard For An Utter Brute Or For An Utter Saint.

San Francisco Is Gone. Nothing Remains Of It But Memories.

The Aim Of Life Was Meat. Life Itself Was Meat. Life Lived On Life. There Were The Eaters And The Eaten.

They Were Not Half Living, Or Quarter Living. They Were Simply So Many Bags Of Bones In Which Sparks Of Life Fluttered Faintly.