What should we steal tonight?

Another hour?

Another year?

I wish us all the best.

The only way out is through,

we've got to live it through.

Night falls, and the wind rises.

I push through the gate and whistle at the stars.

All we have are words.

The kindness of animals.

The flash of an earring in the dark.

Remember, we only ever smell like ourselves.

This need to live?

Drink it up.

Feel it in your eyes.

Show them how to really smile.

Earlier today a policeman asked me for my name and I told him I’m sorry but I’m seeing someone at the moment.

Neither the past, the present or future matter to me.

What matters to me is love, art and money.

I’m running down the street and my arms are in the air

and I’m shouting to them: "you can’t make me care".

And I’m calling things that are that be not as though they were,

and I’m not crying and neither are you and neither is anybody else.

We’re just dancing.

There’s no feeling in the world like riding at 150 miles an hour into the sunset

and not being able to remember what you had for lunch.

You want to know what's next?

More apocalypse.

Even if you could escape it,

why would you want to.

It’s all so beautifully modern.

I’m not leaving.

I’m here for good.

I won’t lie to you.

I was scared.

I was scared when my life put me on a boat that I knew would sink but that I still got on.

And while the whole set up was fantastic and I was basically having the single greatest time of my young life,

I still got the feeling —

call it intuition, call it luck,

call it whatever the word is for when you get heatstroke twice in a week and start speaking Sanskrit —

that that shipwreck, once it happened,

would not be cinematic at all.

It would not be heroic.

I would not end up doing the great things that I can’t remember now that I dreamt of doing when I was little.

But I still knew,

back there in the dark and peaceful cave where most of my important thoughts were living at the time,

that I would end up,

ironically enough,

like that guy did in the movie:

betrayed by his adored object,

more naked than it's possible for a person to be,

and lost in the grey and frozen confusion of being left alone to die.

And I also knew that if some part of me did,

however incredibly, survive,

that all that would be left of me,

of everything that could have ever been thought of definitively as me,

would just be some faded memory,

and that, if you’ll allow me to speak metaphorically for a moment,

it would end up being just like some old leather jacket,

made out of indifference and cynicism,

that I would have to then shrug on and lug around, on my back,

for the rest of my fucking life.

That’s how I felt then

and I don’t think now that I was wrong then either.

I’ll spare you all the gory details.

But I will just say this —

they gave the doctors that worked on me awards for exemplary performance in circumstances of extreme stress.

All I really have to say is that I'm not scared anymore,

I'm happy to be here with you all,

and I feel extremely extremely lucky to be alive,

and if me and the big man upstairs didn't have such a complicated history

I'd kiss his hand right now,

because that shit there,

that shit there was downright miraculous.

Ok?