Jim finally realized his dream and was enrolled in the ‘motion picture division’ of the Department of Theatre Arts at UCLA. Jim gathered around him a coterie of neurotic and obsessive odd ducks. Dennis Jakob was called ‘The Weasel’ or ‘The Rat’ for his hunched-over, scampering walk. Jim loved him because, he said, Dennis was the only person in the world he had met who had read more books than he had. Dennis and Jim talked endlessly about Friedrich Nietzsche. They both identified with Dionysus, ‘who was without any images, himself primordial pain and its primordial re-echoing’. It was a phrase they both knew, a philosophical outlook they shared.
Hopkins, Jerry. The Lizard King

I had, at that point, a small room in Venice, California, right above the Kickapoo Logan Company; now gone. It was half a block from the beach. It contained a desk, two chairs, a cheap refrigerator, a hot plate, a bed, and a boosted Moviola. Its window opened out into an adjoining roof and that led to a one-foot wall which was the barrier to yet another roof. For washing, there was a place down at the beach which had a cold shower. The rent was thirty-five dollars a month, a sum impossible to imagine in today's inflationary times. But summer was upon us: clear and golden and beckoning. “Hell, you can sleep on the roof," I said. "I have a sleeping bag.” So, abandoning everything, including his girlfriend Mary, she who had abandoned him, he moved in with me without a single coin to his name. It was the beginning of a series of strange and very revealing adventures into the unknown.
Jakob, Dennis C.. Summer With Morrison