Musings of an Enquirer

Vodka can be mixed with anything, including more vodka.

—Twitter and Life

In the subway I test my eyesight reading the ads at the farther end of the car. I cross−examine my body to ascertain if I am exempt from any of the ailments which civilized man is heir to. Is my breath foul? Does my heart knock? Have I a fallen instep? Are my joints swollen with rheumatism? No sinus trouble? No pyorrhea? How about constipation? Or that tired feeling after lunch? No migraine, no acidosis, no intestinal catarrh, no lumbago, no floating bladder, no corns or bunions, no varicose veins? As far as I know I’m sound as a button,and yet…
Well, the truth is I lack something, something vital…
I’m love−sick. Sick to death. A touch of dandruff and I’d succumb like a poisoned rat.

—Henry Miller - Sexus

What I want is to open up. I want to know what’s inside me. I want everybody to open up. I’m like an imbecile with a can opener in his hand, wondering where to begin— to open up the earth. I know that underneath the mess everything is marvelous. I’m sure of it.

—Henry Miller - Sexus

I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they`ve always worked for me.

—Hunter S. Thompson

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.