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“I knew that I wasn’t entirely sane. I still knew, as I had as a child, that there was something strange about myself. I felt as if I were destined to be a murderer, a bank robber, a saint, a rapist, a monk, a hermit. I needed an isolated place to hide. Skid row was disgusting. The life of the sane, average man was dull, worse than death. There seemed to be no possible alternative. Education also seemed to be a trap. The little education I had allowed myself had made me more suspicious. What were doctors, lawyers, scientists? They were just men who allowed themselves to be deprived of their freedom to think and act as individuals. I went back to my shack and drank…” — Charles Bukowski
I knew that I wasn’t
entirely sane. I still knew, as I had as a child, that there was something strange
about myself. I felt as if I were destined to be a murderer, a bank robber, a
saint, a rapist, a monk, a hermit. I needed an isolated place to hide. Skid row
was disgusting. The life of the sane, average man was dull, worse than death.
There seemed to be no possible alternative. Education also seemed to be a
trap. The little education I had allowed myself had made me more suspicious.
What were doctors, lawyers, scientists? They were just men who allowed
themselves to be deprived of their freedom to think and act as individuals. I
went back to my shack and drank…