NOTHING IS THE CONTENT, PART 0
...still think that zero must have some value, I mean, when it's added at the end of 2, it equals 20 and it can even be added to the millions if you add lots of zeros to the end of any number. And you know, I really hate numbers, that's the reason why I earned a degree in English, for, I always dreamt of doing shit work for the rest of my life because I eventually believed that the labor would drive me insane enough to write about it...that's how Bukowski did it, only he didn't have a stinkin' degree to help him diagnose his "word choice"...mad love, crazed lust...that's all he ever needed, besides a 6-pack of beer...
...but, been reading lots of Bukowski these days, had to set aside the Burroughs for a while, only to eventually pick up Kerouac again, though I'm currently reading Bukowski...
...all of these dignified writers had one thing in common: they were all raised in fucked-up upbringings...Bukowski: physically and mentally abused by his father, with a medical condition of horrific acne...Kerouac: watched his older brother die at a young age, while he struggled to be the apple of his mother's eye throughout his life...don't know enough about Burroughs to add to the list...
But...us madmen, we just go about writing and go about keeping silent of our past because all of that solitude is what drove us insane in the first place. Sometimes I don't want love, I just need someone to talk to, and, well...a little bit of play time.
...still think that zero must have some value, I mean, when it's added at the end of 2, it equals 20 and it can even be added to the millions if you add lots of zeros to the end of any number. And you know, I really hate numbers, that's the reason why I earned a degree in English, for, I always dreamt of doing shit work for the rest of my life because I eventually believed that the labor would drive me insane enough to write about it...that's how Bukowski did it, only he didn't have a stinkin' degree to help him diagnose his "word choice"...mad love, crazed lust...that's all he ever needed, besides a 6-pack of beer...
...but, been reading lots of Bukowski these days, had to set aside the Burroughs for a while, only to eventually pick up Kerouac again, though I'm currently reading Bukowski...
...all of these dignified writers had one thing in common: they were all raised in fucked-up upbringings...Bukowski: physically and mentally abused by his father, with a medical condition of horrific acne...Kerouac: watched his older brother die at a young age, while he struggled to be the apple of his mother's eye throughout his life...don't know enough about Burroughs to add to the list...
But...us madmen, we just go about writing and go about keeping silent of our past because all of that solitude is what drove us insane in the first place. Sometimes I don't want love, I just need someone to talk to, and, well...a little bit of play time.