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pain is absurd because it exists, nothing more;
I am upstairs in my underwear, 3 day beard, pouring a beer and waiting for something literary or symphonic to happen;
small men rant at things they cannot do.
God, or somebody, bless him.
Not Being Able To Love Fully They Will BELIEVE Your Love Incomplete AND THEN THEY WILL HATE YOU
and later in my room there’s scotch and beer: the blood of a coward. this then will be my destiny: scrabbling for pennies in dark tiny halls reading poems I have long since become tired of. and I used to think that men who drove buses or cleaned out latrines or murdered men in alleys were fools.
and getting dressed we talk about what else there might be to do, but being together solves most of it, in fact, solves all of it
some people never go crazy. what truly horrible lives they must live.
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often when you do it’s too late and there’s nothing worse than too late.
what matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
the strongest of the strange
no leaders invent yourself and then reinvent yourself, don’t slough in the slime. invent yourself and then reinvent yourself, stay out of the clutches of mediocrity and self-pity. invent yourself and then reinvent yourself, change your tone and shape so that they can never find you. recharge yourself. accept continuance but only on the terms that you have invented and reinvented. be self-instructed. invent life, it is you, the history of its past and the presence of its presentness. there is nothing else, nothing.
the bluebird
do you want to enter the arena?
roll the dice
