Heaven is depressing, full of dead people and all, but life. I feel like shit but I’ve never felt more alive. I’ve finally found the secret of all the Mormon energy. Devastation. That’s what makes people migrate, build things. Devastated people do it, people who have lost love. Because I don’t think God loves His people any better than Joe loved me. The string was cut, and off they went. Ravaged, heartbroken and free. (Little pause) I have to go home now. I hope you come back. Look at this place. Can you imagine spending eternity here? Unspeakable beauty. That’s something I would like to see.



Bless me anyway. I want more life. I can’t help myself. I do. I’ve lived through such terrible times, and there are people who live through much much worse, but...You see them living anyway. When they’re more spirit than body, more sores than skin, when they’re burned and in agony, when flies lay eggs in the corners of the eyes of their children, they live. Death usually has to take life away. I don’t know if that’s just the animal. I don’t know if it’s not braver to die. But I recognize the habit. The addiction to being alive. We live past hope. If I can find hope anywhere, that’s it, that’s the best I can do. It’s much not enough, so inadequate but...Bless anyway. I want more life. 



Just so’s the record’s straight: I love Prior but I was never in love with him. I have a man, uptown, and I have since long before I first laid my eyes on the sorry-ass sight of never bothered to ask. Up in the air, just like that angel, too far off the earth to pick out the details. Louis and his Big Ideas. Big Ideas are all you love. “America” is what Louis loves. Well I hate America, Louis. I hate this country. It’s just big ideas, and stories, and people dying, and people like you. The white cracker who wrote the National Anthem knew what he was doing. He set the word “free” to a note so high nobody can reach it. That was deliberate. Nothing on earth sounds less like freedom to me. You come with me to room 1013 over at the hospital, I’ll show you America. Terminal, crazy and mean.



I decided to come here so I could see could I forgive you. You who I have hated so terribly I have borned my hatred for you up into the heavens and made a needle-sharp little start in the sky out of it. I came to forgive but all I can do is take pleasure in your misery. Hoping I’d get to see you die more terrible than I did. And you are, ‘cause you’re dying in shit, defeated. And you could kill me, but you couldn’t ever defeat me. You never won. And when you die all anyone will say is: Better he had never lived at all.



If you want smoke and puffery you can listen to Kissinger and Schultz and those guys, but if you want to look at the heart of modern conservatism, you look at me. Everyone else has abandoned the struggle, everything nowadays is just sipping tea with Nixon and Mao, that was disgusting, did you see that? Were you born yet? My generation, we had clarity. Unafraid to look deep into the miasma at the heart of the world, what a pit, what a nightmare is there - I have looked, I have searched all my life for the absolute bottom, and I found it, believe me: Stygian. How tragic, how brutal life is. How false people are. The immutable heart of what we are that bleeds through whatever we might become. All else is vanity. I don’t know the world anymore. After I die they’ll say it was for the money and the headlines. But it was never the money: it’s the moxie that counts. I never waivered. You: remember.