2010

"Everywhere we hang onto the walls of the world, and in the darkest part of the hangover, I think of two friends who advise me on various methods of suicide. What better proof of loving camaraderie? one of my friends has razor scars running all along his left arm. the other jams pills by the bucketloads into a mass of black beard. they both write poetry. there is something about writing poetry that brings a man close to the cliff's edge. probably, though, all three of us will live into our nineties. can you imagine the world in 2010 a.d.? of course, the way it will look will depend a lot on what is done with the Bomb. I suppose men will still eat eggs for breakfast, have sex problems. write poetry. commit suicide".

Charles Bukowski, "Notes of a dirty old man".

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