I used to lay drunk in alleys and I probably will again.Bukowski, who is he? I read about Bukowski and it doesn't seem like anything to do with me.

sometimes I hate you," she said.

Some people have written that my writing has helped them go on. It has helped me too. The writing, the roses, the 9 cats.

stay with the beer. beer is continuous blood. a continuous lover.

Art is its own excuse, and it's either Art or it's something else. It's either a poem or a piece of cheese.

You begin saving the world by saving one man at a time; all else is grandiose romanticism or politics.

There's nothing unusual about love.