"Nothing was interesting, nothing. The people were restrictive and careful, all alike. And I’ve got to live with these fuckers for the rest of my life, I thought. God, they all had assholes and sexual organs and their mouths and their armpits. They shit and they chattered and they were as dull as horse dung."
oh bukowski you genius, you.
tired. so very tired. i looked through a journal i kept the other day, and every entry starts with these few words: 'tired', 'bored', 'lonely'.
jan 31st 2012:
"In the mood to do something absolutely outrageous to shock the balance in my life. But more often than not after the initial excitement wears off, I'm left with myself again. My same bored uninspired self feeling more hopeless and lost than ever."
Imagine the clouds dripping.
Dig a hole in your garden to put them in.
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