Javelinized heart.
I'm reading 'Women' by Charles Bukowski as I'm slowly carried away by the car towards home.
I'm sick.Not road-sick.
A feeling of fullnes,of puffiness of the soul.It's like your soul is a pillow and you try and try to stuff it with more substance,but no matter what you do,nothing will fit inside anymore.
Maybe it's the book.
Maybe...
It's a complete and compact encyclopedia of interhuman relationships.All you ever wanted to know about sex,drugs,alcohol,whores,pimps,hard knocks of life,psychiatric disorders,and the list could go on and on...Basically it's canned life .
I couldn't say it better,but if you ever get curious about life,you should give it a try.
I'm sure that these 3 hours spent reading,have condensed all one's experience and theoretical knowledge about this funny thing called life.
Maybe.