I couldn’t stand the ordinariness of life. I couldn’t stand family life, I couldn’t stand job life, I couldn’t stand anything I looked at. I just decided I either had to starve, make it, go mad, come through or do something. Even if I hadn’t made it on writing… I could not do the eight-to-five. I would have been a suicide or something. I’m sorry. I could not accept the snail’s pace eight-to-five, Johnny Carson, happy birthday, Christmas… to me this is the sickest of all sick things.

Bukowski

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