>When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. Bless the s.o.b. hallucinating it out in old school black and white… I’ll challenge him at target practice over a few whiskeys any day. There is nothing more helpless and irresponsible than a man in the depths of a self-reflective ether binge. Throw in a few midgets and go straight to the critic’s jugular, who needs linear narrative anyway--that’s for tie wearing film drones. To actually get paid for writing this kind of manic gibberish seems genuinely weird; like getting paid for kicking Agnew in the balls. So maybe there's hope. Or maybe Fellini’s going mad... Well, at least, I'll know I was there, neck deep in the madness, before the filming went down, and I got so high and wild that I felt like a two-ton Manta ray jumping all the way across the boot of Italy

Fellini knew who I was, at that time, because I had a reputation as a writer--I did not know who he was until he passed out in my bathtub--then I noticed him. I had to have him taken away. "If you're going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you're going to be locked up" I told him before he was dragged off.