"the professors had begun knocking at the door about two years ago,

Aug 02, 2004 00:02

trying to find out where it came from. and there was nothing to tell them. the professors were all the same -- a bit pretty and rather rested in a female sort of way, gangling long legs, large picture window eyes, and finally rather stupid, and so their visits didn't please him at all. they were, in reality, only the fat-head nobles of a changing structure, which like an idiot in a candy store, refused to see the walls burning down. their candy was the mind.
-the clinging to the intellect, the clinging to the intellect, the clinging...
'you'd better tend to business, Mr, Business man,
while you can...'
and that was it. the same melody over and over again:
'you'd better tend to business Mr. Business man,
while you can...'
'you'd better tend to...'
'you'd better...'
'you'd...'
and Jesus, he was soft. all the hard poems; he'd played hard-man all his life but he was soft. everybody was soft, really. -- the hard was only there to protect the soft. what a ridiculous asshole trap."
-Bukowski, Notes of a dirty old man
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