This rather captures the spirit of New Cross and SE London generally... hmm.

Charles Bukowski in his own words. ^^

Some people never go crazy, what truly horrible lives they must live.

Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.

That is what friendship means. Sharing the prejudice of experience.

Sex is interesting, but it's not totally important. I mean it's not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement.

If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose.

Extended metaphors

So there it was, the challenge. Laid out starkly before our eyes at the end of our journey. Across mine-fields of distraction and pain and mind-blunders we had travelled. Through every storm of doubt. We had ignored all the lullabies, luring us back to indifferent sleep. Here it was. Mortality's palace. A huge set of double doors faced out towards us, and at their centre the barrel of a white gun. It seemed to have not been tarnished.

We were not the only ones there. Near the main doors to the palace, a high platform had been set up. Priests and rabbis and mullahs shouted down to us that we were to throw ourselves to the gun. One with steely eyes and a commanding voice spoke. "It's the only way in" he said. It's the only way in.

Because that's why we're all here, we want to get inside. Know the secrets. Steal the treasure.

A team of scientists stood cautiously back, and advised those nearby not to listen to the holy men. "There is no evidence that throwing yourselves to the gun will get you into the palace. It would be wonderful if it were as simple as that, perhaps. Notice how they never get off their platform." I asked one of them what their solution was. "We're working on a weapon. We plan to destroy the doors and the gun. Then the secrets and the treasure will be there for the taking." I asked him if they were having much luck so far. "Not yet" he said, with a slow frown.

Suddenly, a monk who had been sitting cross legged with a deep and impassive expression on his face rose up. Everyone turned to him. He took a deep breath in. "The gun... is an illusion." Everybody gasped in shock.

"He's been here as long as anyone can remember I've heard" the scientist remarked. I didn't know whether this meant he was crazy or if it meant we should trust him.

"The doors, too, are an illusion, and so is the palace. Mortality... is a lie. The secrets and treasure lie directly beyond it's false walls. Let us be fooled no longer."

Uproar. Several people fainted. The scientists grabbed their notebooks. The priests frantically scanned their holy texts.

The monk smiled and began to walk slowly forward towards the doors. The whoops of joy, the confused shouting, the scribbling and rustling of pages died down with each consecutive step, until he was metres away, when all fell silent.

He paused, as if for a second wavering in his conviction. Then marched boldly forward and was shot dead on his third step.

The uproar this time was even louder. The holy men screeched with savage joy. "THERE IS NO ESCAPING THE GUN, MY FRIENDS. THROW YOURSELVES IN IT'S PATH AND PUT AN END TO THIS FUTIILE PAIN."

The scientists frowned more deeply than ever.

We, however, felt differently.

We walked around to the side of the palace and snuck in through a nondescript door half by accident, laughing like a band of merry cosmological thieves. There were no secrets inside, but there were large windows at the front of the building, where the crowds were. We looked out on the chaos. Someone shouted that they'd found graffiti messages from some others who'd made it in. And we danced.

These pictures make me grin

And if I'm gonna talk, I just wanna talk

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

break out break out

Some days I just want to look in the mirror and go AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sing me to sleep

After the dance, we left in Sam's pick-up. Patrick was driving this time. As we were approaching the Fort Pitt Tunnel, Sam asked Patrick to pull to the side of the road. I didn't know what was going on. Sam climbed in the back of the pick-up, wearing nothing but her dance dress. She told Patrick to drive, and he got this smile on his face. I guess they had done this before...Anyway, Patrick started driving really fast, and just before we got to the tunnel, Sam stood up, and the wind turned her dress into ocean waves. When we hit the tunnel, all the sound got scooped up into a vacuum, and it was replaced by a song on the tape player. A beautiful song called "Landslide." When we got out of the tunnel, Sam screamed this really fun scream, and there it was. Downtown. Lights on buildings and everything that makes you wonder. Sam sat down and started laughing. Patrick started laughing. I started laughing. And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.

Eric Schwartz

Keep your Jesus off my penis
Keep your bible off my balls
Keep your prayers out of my ears
And your crosses off my walls
You can keep the virgin mother
And the resurrection too
Keep your Jesus off my penis
I'll keep my penis off of you

Dorothy Parker

Oh life is a glorious of cycle of song
A medley of extemporanea
And love is a thing that can never go wrong
And I am Marie of Romania