If I wasn't so disgusted by the man Bukowski was, I'd be tempted to model myself after him, but I simply can't.
- As a drinker, I grew bored of the game almost twenty years ago. My doctor insists I should drink more, but I have been known to be a very contrary person.
- As a misoginistic pig, I just haven't got it in me. Its one thing to hate (yes, hate!) those who purposefully set put to rip me to shreds. It's a different proposition to hate them all, when there are those three special someones I admire and love unconditionally. Two of them are my daughters. The third is neither their mother, nor mine. That will suffice.
- As a misanthrope, I don't quite fit the bill, either, I find myself connecting with others as easy as anything. Up to the point in which I ended up making the acquaintance of undesirables when I should have been more guarded.
I just got in common with him the passion for music (he was always ranting about Mahler) and a total lack of self-pity when the moment comes to criticize one's own self.
I also have an ego the size of a three-storey block ("I'm a fucking genius, baby, but don't nobody know it but me").
This might turn interesting...
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