A good person is hard to find.

that is all.

The many withered wander these streets, day and night. Their faces are willowy and wrinkled. They are hardened, but they look as if they could shatter at any minute. Filling up their bottles with vodka and whiskey; tossing empty bottles of buckfast into dim alleyways ( Read more... )

a bottle of whiskey to warm my frozen heart ( Read more... )

Been reading some charles bukowski lately. what a crazy drunken poet. good, though ( Read more... )

by Jalalu'ddin Rumi ( Read more... )

Reticence will only bring you so far my dear ( Read more... )

I have learned long ago not to labour my hands in a death march across the chanter. Now when I watch my fingers I see a dance, and the more elegantly they flourish the more beautiful the sounds. It's much nicer to see life as a dance, than it is to see it as a long march. The point of the march is to get somewhere, the point of the dance is the ( Read more... )

I wrote these words on a clementine ( Read more... )

Standing on the bare stones above the cinder shore ( Read more... )

I can fight ( Read more... )