Fuck the ouija board

I am having a Bukowski evening.

Celebrating an early fall in NYC with beer on my stoop, chain smoking ciggs, and writing with the emotional clarity that alcohol provides.

It's when I am sober that I can pyscho-analyze my emotions.

Much like Mr. Bukowski himself--write through the drunken haze then edit edit edit with the aid of sobriety. Except that I never read that he had his best thoughts during his 3.5 mi runs. Yea living close to the Central Park reservoir.

Finishing beer #2 as beer #3 sits in my fridge cooling. And it's my Holyoke Dam Ale. Reminds me of my college tries. Did you know I wrote my senior project drunk and in 12 hours. I got an A on it--if only my professor knew what he started.