Me Sitting Down For Dinner With Ingmar

I'm Not A Drinker, My Body Won't Tolerate...eh...spirits, Really. I Had Two Martinis New Years Eve And I Tried To Hi-jack An Elevator And Fly It To Cuba.

I Have A Number Of Symptoms That Are Neurotic And Are Constricting In The Sense That If I Had A Brilliant Idea For A Film That Had To Be Shot In Tulsa, Ok I Would Tear It Up And Throw It Away. Anything Outside Of New York, 'cause I Can't Exist In A Hotel Outside Of My Own Home, I Have To Be In My Own Home And My Own Environment. This Is A Neurotic Symptom That Is Constricting To My Work Even.

Let's Say There Was No Terrorism Whatsoever And We Were All Very Nice To One Another And We Were All Kind, We Still Would Be Faced With An Extremely Cruel And Hostile Universe And Existence And So I'm A Great Pessimist And I Feel That It's Impossible Really To Be Happy, And That The Best You Can Hope For Is To Be Distracted.

The Heart Wants What It Wants.

It Is Impossible To Experience One's Death Objectively And Still Carry A Tune.