No reason to suffer for art. Not that I can see. Do you suppose that I've blundered through this mire of heartache so that I might have something to write about?
Well, I've sailed a steamer to South America to find a lover who doesn't want me and I've hacked up women of the evening on the streets and in the alleys of Victorian London. I've played polo with Idi Amin's kid and I've talked to Elvis in heaven from a pay phone.
Yeah, I've got Tuesday Weld and Haystacks Calhoun and Daffy Duck. Do I really need folks in my life who don't want to be around me? That's a rhetorical question, pal.
Keep an eye on me; I'm busting at the seams with love.
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