Henry Miller style falling short of the mark as the literary man is defeated but who really gives a flying fuck about literature? It’s all bogus. I only endeavor out of sheer spite. I’m unable to take any of this too seriously. It all seems a nasty joke. I am a joke played on myself. I am perhaps the biggest joke ever played on myself. But these are just the odds of the game. I guess I should be aware of every obstacle. Make it a better joke. Gotta do things the way they are and keep plugging.
False idolatry
young poet searching the joke
finding a mirror