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they didn't want to
write
they wanted to
succeed at
writing.
hell is a closed door
when you're starving for your
goddamned art
but somtimes you feel at least
like having a
peek through the
keyhole.
young or old, good or bad,
I don't think anything dies as
slow and
as hard as a
writer.
hello, Hamsun
after two-and-one -half bottles
that have not strengthened my
saddened
heart
walking from this drunken
darkness
toward the bedroom
thinking of Hamsun who
ate his own flesh to
gain time to
write
I trundle into the other
room
an old
man
a hellfish in the night
swimming upward
sidewards
down.
"Point Counter Point"
did help a bit
in carrying me through
the factories and the
drunk tanks and the
unsavory
ladies,
that
book
along with Hamsun's
"Hunger"
they helped a
bit.
great books are
the ones we
need.