60 Yard Pass

Bukowski has a poem called '60 Yard Pass' about most people not being much use at what they do, getting discouraged with their existence. Today I know what he means. It makes you want to do worse yourself, just so the quality of your own work doesn't attract further hassles.

You know how geniuses sometimes act dumb because they're frightened of the power of their own minds? A bit like that, but without the genius tag.

Anyway, the sun's outside and soon I will be as well. Oh aye, and I just thought of an old Beat Happening song called 'Indian Summer' - currently languishing unplayed on vinyl in my parents' house.

Sad thoughts altogether: where's the space when you need it?