You'll pry my books off my cold, dead body. By the time you shift them all I'll be flat and dessicated.
Werner Herzog is walking, walking, walking. He is walking to Paris because of magical thinking. His friend Lotte Eisner cannot die before he arrives. He drinks milk and eats tangerines and breaks into empty vacation homes at night. He finishes someone's crossword puzzle, he urinates in someone's boot. He sees things, he describes them. He describes things he probably does not see. I'm pretty sure some of those things could not have happened, it is not always easy to tell what is real and what is in his mind. I feel justified in these comma splices because Werner Herzog loves commas splices, they are everywhere. Werner Herzog and I both think in comma splices, and we've both read Where's Waldo?, these things make me feel more sympathetic to him even though he appears to be insane and demonstrates extremely poor judgment.
My only regret is that this book did not include photographs. Damn that Frenchman who refused to sell Werner Herzog film!