#19

"...do not take it seriously, what you see here: it's only a joke played on myself by myself...
it amuses and horrifies... a rather gaudy grave, you might say. There is no daytime in this room, nor night;
the seasons are changeless here, and the years, and when I die, if indeed I haven't already,
then let me be dead drunk and curled, as in my mother's womb, in the warm blood of darkness.
Wouldn't that be an ironic finale for one who, deep in his goddamned soul, sought the sweetly clean-limbed life?
bread and water, a simple roof to share with some beloved, nothing more."


pg 138 of Other Voices, Other Rooms - Truman Capote