Barfly

And as my hands drop the last desperate pen, in some cheap room, they will find me there and never know my name, my meaning, nor the treasure of my escape.

This is a world where everybody's gotta do something. Y'know, somebody laid down this rule that everybody's gotta do something, they gotta be something. You know, a dentist, a glider pilot, a narc, a janitor, a preacher, all that.
Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things that I don't wanna do. All the things that I don't wanna be. Places I don't wanna go, like India, like getting my teeth cleaned. Save the whale, all that, I don't understand that.
You're not supposed to think about it. I think the whole trick is, not to think about it.

Don't be sorry, just put on some new underwear.

Why don't you stop drinking? Anybody can be a drunk.
Anybody can be a non-drunk. It takes a special talent to be a drunk. It takes endurance. Endurance is more important than truth.

Hey baby, nobody suffers like the poor.

Nothing but the dripping sink. Empty bottle. Euphoria. Youth fenced in, stabbed and shaved. Taut words propped up to die.

Dream

I find it incredibly dull to read people's dreams. Why waste my time on something that didn't actually happen? But in case you feel differently...

It began civilly enough. Our side had gathered, flash mob style, to hear a speech from the other side, and we can only assume that is why the other side had simultaneously gathered. Had this situation begun due to one too many assumptions? The moment we arrived, it took only one member of our side to throw the first item, an unidentifiable conservative journal, clear across the meager, threadbare rope that divided us. In an instant it was a free-for-all, and soon members of both sides were buried deep in the sea of paper, and some other items, such as smoldered soldiers boots. We chucked The San Francisco Chronicle to their side, they hurled The Washington Times back, we tossed articles detailing the massive civilian casualties in Iraq right over the border, and they kicked it back. Headlines bearing "Global Warming Hoax" soared over my head, and I scrambled, clutched it for a mere moment as if it would poison my hand, and sent it right back. We could not throw far and fast enough; they could not pick up our "trash" fast enough. Though we both labored, none made progress. Though we spit curses, bent and stood hundreds, thousands, of times, neither was ever able to empty their space of unwanted paper. Soon I, and I assume others, began throwing personal items. I carried my bed duvet and handed it to a member of the other side, who only tried to give it back. We went on like this for eternity.