In San Francisco Ginsberg saw a psychiatrist, Philip Hicks, who asked him what he would like to do with his life.
"Doctor," as Ginsberg recalls his answer, "I don't think you're going to find this very healthy and clear, but I really would like to stop working forever — never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I'm doing now — and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I'd like to keep living with someone — maybe even a man — and explore relationships that way. And cultivate my perceptions, cultivate the visionary thing in me. Just a literary and quiet city-hermit existence."
Then Hicks said, "Well, why don't you?"
Sometimes I feel this way, too.