Commencement

Ok, so this forthcoming prose was spawned after a few Lithuanian beers shared with Coldbrain one chilly evening.

I'm into beat authors at the moment. Bukowski, Burrows (mentalist) and Kerouac. In fact I have just finished reading Bukowski's Post Office which I found myself being envious of the leading protagonist but also having some sort of pity towards him. I'm envious because of his matter-of-fact approach to life. The fact he doesn't give a shit, not one single plop of poo about anyone really. That must be such a good feeling to be released from all conventional society drawbacks, like a dead end jobs in the post office, or putting the rubbish out on a Tuesday. The pity derives from his dependence of alcohol and the fact he gets wasted every night and doesn't even eat. When I was coming towards the end of the book I thought, yeah, you've had a pretty good adventure of sleeping with women and spending money won at the race track but now your life seems pretty pointless considering you just sit there getting wasted until you go numb.

The designer where I work has suggested I check out Factotum so I'm gonna pick that up the next time I'm up town if I can remember and it looks any good.