In a capitalistic society the losers slaved for the winners and you have to have more losers than winners.

as the shadows assume shapes I fight the slow retreat now my once-promise dwindling dwindling now lighting new cigarettes pouring more drinks it has been a beautiful fight still is.

I carry death in my left pocket. Sometimes I take it out and talk to it: "Hello, baby, how you doing? When you coming for me? I'll be ready.

I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me.

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

my beerdrunk soul is sadder than all the dead christmas trees of the world.

I could read the great books but the great books don't interest me.