L
Lazy Fuck
I drank a bottle of wine in 15 min. My girlfriend at work so the place is all mine. I am not a native Eglish speaker. Just 5 mins ago I was Reading a Hubert Selby book and filled all the blank pages in the end of the book with some really blur writing. I DO NOT have the courage to find the book and see what I wrote. I am a fuckong hoaz. I can't write. I mean... I write better than 99% of people, in Finnish that is, but it's not enough, I don't care. Nothing's enough. So I registered into a Bukowski discussion forum, what a fuckong laugh, thinkin g I'd get some answers here.
The book I read was Waiting Period. I laughed. But hey, I'm drunk. i'm beyond salvation.
I'm listening to Lou Reed's Berlin and I'm too depressed to write why. Please do understand taht I would never even under any circumstances talk about any of the stuff that I am now writing in a fuckin dropdead drunkness to ANYBODY.
I really, really, am as fucked up as D. Fante and Bukowski, but I REALLY, really am not not there where I'm supposed to be, writing... WELL.
I Realize that this is fucking pathetic, but I've written dozens of notebooks and hundreds of pages to my lap top about these kind o things and no one here knows my identity so I can drag myself to the local food market or wwhateverthefuckitis in the mornin n buy a red bull. And then wander to the next liquer store.
I am beyond salvation, I am just writing. Selby got to me. i am not a good writer, in ant language, if i could i would not choose to be. i listen to lou reed, drunk as a motherfuckin skunk, high on DAN qdn Selby.
This is not the way I am. In the mornin, when I weak up n maybe check this website some who'd read the Selby novel would have posted 'It's okay you fucking lunatic, we've all been thorug that hell'
there's still some wine. I', gonna listen the men of good fortune now....
forgive me.
The book I read was Waiting Period. I laughed. But hey, I'm drunk. i'm beyond salvation.
I'm listening to Lou Reed's Berlin and I'm too depressed to write why. Please do understand taht I would never even under any circumstances talk about any of the stuff that I am now writing in a fuckin dropdead drunkness to ANYBODY.
I really, really, am as fucked up as D. Fante and Bukowski, but I REALLY, really am not not there where I'm supposed to be, writing... WELL.
I Realize that this is fucking pathetic, but I've written dozens of notebooks and hundreds of pages to my lap top about these kind o things and no one here knows my identity so I can drag myself to the local food market or wwhateverthefuckitis in the mornin n buy a red bull. And then wander to the next liquer store.
I am beyond salvation, I am just writing. Selby got to me. i am not a good writer, in ant language, if i could i would not choose to be. i listen to lou reed, drunk as a motherfuckin skunk, high on DAN qdn Selby.
This is not the way I am. In the mornin, when I weak up n maybe check this website some who'd read the Selby novel would have posted 'It's okay you fucking lunatic, we've all been thorug that hell'
there's still some wine. I', gonna listen the men of good fortune now....
forgive me.