Let it die. Let there be a new beginning. It’s awful. Goodnight.

A day of minor profit or prophet led to a night of drunkenness.

When you play the field selfishly everything works against you: one can’t insist on love or demand affection. you’re finally left with whatever you have been willing to give which often is: nothing.

Great art is horseshit, buy tacos.

soon I'll finish this 5th of Puerto Rican rum. in the morning I'll vomit and shower, drive back in, have a sandwich by 1 p.m., be back in my room by 2, stretched on the bed, waiting for the phone to ring, not answering, my holiday is an evasion, mt reasoning is not.

the free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it - basically because you feel good, very good, when you are near or with them.

I guess we often get the deep blues, both of us, and wonder what it all means- the people, the buildings, the day by day things, the waste of time, of ourselves.