I believe in the divinity of profligacy. The creation of art, okay, just the attempt at the creation of art, as well as the appreciation of it, is both an enlarging of the world and an expanding of consciousness. (1)
Evolution has no intention; rather through random lurches in mutation, through aleatory variety, it finds fits, makes do.....
Purposeless is not meaninglessness. I wasn’t put on this planet to explain myself. The variety of nature is too astonishing to explain as a form of utility, it’s just not necessary. Functional concern does not look for plethora, it looks for single solutions. (30)
Discipline is only good for the dispensing of punishment. Art’s great obligation is to its own liberty, and by demonstration, the realization of ours. It is not an exercise any more than making love or dying can be practiced. (36)
What is a poem but the management of silence and babble? (146)
The primary urge to make poems is connected to our most exorbitant claims of our power and divinity, as well as our being a part of the animal, mineral world. We are prisoners of raindrops set free by our own flames. (153)
It is a hunger, a revolt, a drive, a mash note, a fright, a tantrum, a grief, a hoax, a debacle, an application, an affect. It is a collaboration: the bad news may be that we are never entirely in control but the good news is that we collaborate with a genius– the language! (156)
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