I wish I did not think about it so much, he thought.
Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it.
How would that premise stand up if he examined it? That was probably why the Communists were always cracking down on Bohemiansism. When you were drunk or when you committed adultery you recognised your own personal fallability of that so mutable substitute for the apostles' creed, the party line. Down with Bohemianism, the sin of Majakowski.
Red swine. Mother rapers. Eaters of the milk of thy fathers.
I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?
It's all nonsense. It's only nonsense. I'm not afraid of the rain. I am not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh, God, I wish I wasn't.