into the morning.

Years of refusal to give in to social standards, to conservative lifestyle, to dogma, to tradition, to convention, have resulted in me being alone, and sometimes lonely. However, loneliness is the only life for me. The pain of being alone is never comparable to the pain of suffering ennui in the daily compromises of a serious relationship. My days are filled with poetry, prose, film, music, wine, thought, and attempts at creativity. Loneliness is a small price to pay for such tragic beauty. Others are out arguing about the kind of dish washing liquid they should purchase whilst I am sipping wine amidst a pile of Bukowski’s works. So, sipping wine, I listen to the music flooding through my rain wet window from the Guildford Festival and I feel happy and proud that we are able to put on such a growing show. My only hope is that some Joe Strummer-like camp fires are lit tonight and that the music continues into the morning.

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