… and we are in bed together laughing and we don’t care about anything.
Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same.
The empty, the angry, the lonely, the tricked, we are all museums of fear.
I had no feeling for the things so many others needed.
but as God said, crossing his legs, I see where I have made plenty of poets but not so very much poetry.
Those who escape hell however never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that