Doing some reading lately.
Here I am. A constant marauder of the internet, cyberspace, the vast and seemingly endless space of the world wide web, reverting back to the simple form of journal keeping. My last post dated back to December of 2009 and how it seems so long ago makes me feel old. Considering through a larger scope not much time has passed makes me feel ignorant. It's funny I feel like I have changed so much in the past year that I couldn't recollect how I was the year before. Probably naive and expecting a lot more from people and exerting a lot less of myself to get it. I more than likely kept to myself and was thoroughly embarrassed by my family. However I was probably open to more things and had a lust for adventure. Maybe not much has changed, just those attributes have been tweaked, adventures were now planed trips (plans that never really work out) and my family is a bit less embarrassing. I still read occasionally and I have tried to vary my tastes. I had never read a Bukowski, and I had always wondered why he was so revered. I am currently reading Women and found his simple style to be very intriguing. Somewhere between a beat artist and alcoholic, not to sound redundant. I get why people who want to make it look like they have an edge say they love Bukowski he seemed tough, curt, horny, and driven by his addictions. There is however a slight tenderness underlying his filthy portrayal of his characters that makes them lovable. Like the kid who always stirs the pot, randomly dies. Yeah he was a jerk but somehow you would miss him if he weren't around anymore. I have been inspired to write again I just need some time to myself, and away from porn.