too often, the only escape is sleep

I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.

my mother, poor fish, wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile! why don't you ever smile?" and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the saddest smile I ever saw

I have a face like a washrag. I sing love songs and carry steel. I would rather die than cry. I can't stand hounds can't live without them. I hang my head against the white refrigerator and want to scream like the last weeping of life forever but I am bigger than the mountains.

I guess the only time most people think about injustice is when it happens to them.

Sometimes I get too exhausted to even feel bad

not writing is not good but trying to write when you can't is worse.