But I'm not a saint yet. I'm an alcoholic. I'm a drug addict. I'm homosexual. I'm a genius.

The line reads as a deliberately abrasive self-inventory: Capote (or a Capote persona) rejects any attempt to sanitize him into a “saint,” insisting instead on the coexistence of vice, marginalization, and talent. By stacking stigmatized identities (“alcoholic,” “drug addict,” “homosexual”) alongside the unapologetic claim “I’m a genius,” the speaker turns confession into defiance—refusing shame while also refusing redemption narratives. The effect is both self-mythologizing and self-lacerating: it acknowledges destructive compulsions yet asserts an irreducible creative worth. The cadence suggests performance—an epigram meant to shock, entertain, and control how others frame him.