Sexual intercourse is kicking death in the ass while singing.

2 p.m. beer nothing matters but flopping on a mattress with cheap dreams and a beer as the leaves die and the horses die and the landladies stare in the halls; brisk the music of pulled shades, a last man's cave in an eternity of swarm and explosion; nothing but the dripping sink, the empty bottle, euphoria, youth fenced in, stabbed and shaven, taught words propped up to die.

It's better to do a dull thing with style than a dangerous thing without it.

I felt I had to win. It seemed very important. I didn't know why it was important and I kept thinking, why do I think this is so important? And another part of me answered, just because it is.

I'm too careless. I don't put out enough effort. I'm tired.

News travels fast in places where nothing much ever happens.

People empty me. I have to get away to refill.