Drink was his muse, and he surrendered totally!
I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn’t have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone.
A writer has no responsibility, except to jack off in bed alone and type a good page.
Charles Bukowski
Via charlesbukowski and sprbd
Via charlesbukowski and sprbd

