"[...] I continually drove to these places bound to break down and so the hope for change, and the desire for an environment where I could become helpful was always quickly extinguished and I imagined it was the way the world was, or the way I was. Like many others I became an artist. I choose not to dwell on that cultural accident".

Beautifully written, duh. I didn't care that much at first (endless list of people getting smashed) but halfway through something really clicked.

Had I read it 10 years ago, it probably would've become 90% of my personality (insufferable I guess). It's easy to romanticise messy, narcissistic, yet witty and fully humane lesbian poets.