...in that drunken place you would like to hand your heart to her and say touch it but then give it back.

the masses are everywhere they know how to do things: they have sane and deadly angers for sane and deadly things.

whiskey makes the heart beat faster but it sure doesn't help the mind and isn't it funny how you can ache just from the deadly drone of existence?

It was too much. The comfortable people made comfortable jokes about weather and things but I sat mostly silent saying a word or so when necessary a word or so trying to hide from them the fact that I was a fool and feeling terrible And I was numb, numb again, numb again again and again, numbness and pain swelling in me.

The Artist," an ancient sage had once said, "is always sitting on the doorsteps of the rich.

There are times when those eyes inside your brain stare back at you.

Do some living and get yourself a typewriter.