a note to the masses

[cryingfetus]

priate hells made public
often puzzle the readers:
they wonder how this one
or that one
can undure and
continue.
well, there's a secret:
don't expect too
much of Humanity,
they have been
practicing hatred
for centuries,
it's passed down
refined and
perfected,
oh, they have become
very good at that-
their hatreds blossom
with ever more frequent
regularity.
our public hell creates a
private hell and
there is no hell
except on
earth.
once you accept
this premise
you will be free to
exist
on your own terms
and you will never
know loneliness
and death will be as
nothing.
consider yourself
blessed in the
dark.

one of the poems in this book by charles bukowski the guy that picked me up left here. why does bukowski sound familiar? Lepowskey, the Big Lubowski? i can't place it. the picture of a picture of an old wooden chair and chopped lumber in a wood cabin in front of a window scares me a little. he told me something about it, but i don't have a clue what he said. i don't remember his voice or anything much of what he said.

how many more times are they going to show justin rip janets shirt open. i'm sick of it.