Every so often I get this urge to say, “Fuck it”. Fuck the daily grind, fuck the city, fuck my cat, fuck this and fuck that. It hasn’t always worked out for the best. I don’t have fuck you money, so it’s a short lived experience. Also I have carried this attitude too far in life several times. The epitome of an alcoholic, depressive, worn down, beat up soul. Sometimes it’s a good thing. Art is made. Poetry is written. The soul is cleansed and I am ready to stare life in the eyes again. Ready to say, “Bring it on motherfuckers!”
