Charles Bukowski on Redheads and Melancholia
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing. I have gotten so used to melancholia that I greet it like an old friend. I will now do 15 minutes of grieving for the lost redhead, I tell the gods. I do it and feel quite bad quite sad, then I rise CLEANSED even though nothing is solved. that's what I get for kicking...
Because Paladins Are Assholes →
A new tumblr blog I’m goofing around with lately. Just to give me a humorous outlet. The world needs more humorous outlets.
Space Heroes Unnapreciated, Inc.
So yeah, the bitching about my methods needs to stop, people. For fuck’s sake here, I’m trying to save the entire fucking universe already. Maybe this whole reality, according to the sages, or mages, or whatever they are. I don’t know, the glassy-eyed old guys that stare into space and pronounce all sorts of doom and gloom while not doing one damn thing to help a brother kill...
Philosophy is a dirty habit, kids, don’t let your friends start doing it. Oh you might think, “Just a little Plato to take the edge off,” and then next thing you know you’re wallowing in a Burmese hookah parlour arguing Nietzschean ideals with heavily armed men… And then, it’s too late.