Or Drinking With Dali
"Have no fear of perfection - you'll never reach it." he said, looking right through me.
I kept my silence.
He touched the flower woven in his waxed mustache and said: "I don't do drugs. I am drugs."
I didn't say a word. What could I say?
He broke an egg into his glass with absinthe, mixed it thoroughly and turned his head: "A true artist is not one who is inspired, but one who inspires others."
I made a sip of Classic Z in total silence.
He was already at the door, when I heard this: "The only difference between me and a madman is I'm not mad."
I finished my cocktail and closed the door.
The night was hot. The sense of madness was still flowing in the air. The yellow disc of moon was dripping honey through the open window. "Like melting time," I thought.