Take An Indian Home To Lunch.

All Our Lives We Sweat And Save, Building For A Shallow Grave.

It's Like Gambling Somehow. You Go Out For A Night Of Drinking And You Don't Know Where Your Going To End Up The Next Day. It Could Work Out Good Or It Could Be Disastrous. It's Like The Throw Of The Dice.

In The Beginning We Were Creating Our Music, Ourselves, Every Night . . . Starting With A Few Outlines, Maybe A Few Words For A Song. Sometimes We Worked Out In Venice, Looking At The Surf. We Were Together A Lot And It Was Good Times For All Of Us. Acid, Sun, Friends, The Ocean, And Poetry And Music.

She Needed Cholly's Sins Desperately. The Lower He Sank, The Wilder And More Irresponsible He Became, The More Splendid She And Her Task Became. In The Name Of Jesus.

People Are Afraid Of Themselves, Of Their Own Reality; Their Feelings Most Of All. People Talk About How Great Love Is, But That's Bullshit. Love Hurts. Feelings Are Disturbing. People Are Taught That Pain Is Evil And Dangerous. How Can They Deal With Love If They're Afraid To Feel? Pain Is Meant To Wake Us Up. People Try To Hide Their Pain. But They're Wrong. Pain Is Something To Carry, Like A Radio. You Feel Your Strength In The Experience Of Pain. It's All In How You Carry It.