I say that you’re right
we’re on fire tonight
the way that youuuu
come on waste my time
It was years ago. I had been going through a patch of intense brooding and had made a big hubbub about severing most of my ties to my past. I had moved into a rent-by-the-week cold water downtown hotel room on Granville Street and had cut all my hair off, stopped shaving, and had thorns tattooed on my right arm. I spent my days lying on my bed staring at my ceiling, listening to the drunken brawls in other rooms, the squawk of other TVs and the smashing of other mirrors. My fellow tenants were a mixture of pensioners, runaways, drug dealers and so forth. The whole ensemble had made a suitably glamorous backdrop for my belief that my poverty, my fear of death, my sexual frustration and my inability to connect with others would carry me off into some sort of Epiphany. I had lots of love to give - it’s just that no one was taking it then. I had thought I was finding consolation in solitude, but to be honest I think I was only acquiring a veneer of bitterness.
Life After God - Douglas Coupland
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