Fortunately art is a community effort - a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked.
Ultimately Warhol's private moral reference was to the supreme kitsch of the Catholic church.
I think it was when I ran into Kerouac and Burroughs - when I was 17 - that I realized I was talking through an empty skull... I wasn't thinking my own thoughts or saying my own thoughts.
I was putting on a stiff upper lip and trying to fulfill the obligations I thought were demanded of me, taking over my father's role of taking care of my mother... and having to be the recipient of her confessions and emotions but of a delusional nature.
I would say that Times Square was the central hangout for Burroughs, Kerouac, and myself from about 1945 to 1948.
