"I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’t happen. Your letters got sadder.
Your lovers betrayed you."
Charles Bukowski
"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (via rebeccabone)
me too bill, me too.
"Apart from the weather, there was hardly anything to distinguish one day from the next. I worked at concentrating my attention on the real and useful. I would go to the pool almost every day for a long swim, take walks, make myself three meals. But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drank, the very air I breathed, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at 4 o’clock in the morning."
Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
Bukowski on toast
