am I really gonna keep having dreams about a girl I was with when I was 18. fuckin really?!?
I cannot see, I cannot write
I cannot bear the ancient rite
no more I speak of better days
gone on beyond the wall of haze
no spirits haunt, no hidden sight
no secret of the astral light
no inner voice, or guiding hand
behold, no greater grander plan
In search of meaning, lost in spite
no answer in the endless night
dreams do fade from dying mind
surrendering to senseless time
ive smoked and drank myself to death all these years but I don’t know if I can face the boredom, I think Kerouac said something like boozing is an ecstasy of the mind, though I loath it, It has kept me content, fucking to hell with it for awhile as I can.
my fucking work hasn’t called me in a month then the have the balls to ask me to drive down to Pawtucket by 5pm on a Friday, FUCKING ASSHOLES.