Bukowski understands

“I was drawn to all the wrong things:
I liked to drink, I was lazy,
I didn't have a god, politics, ideas, ideals.
I was settled into nothingness;
a kind of non-being, and I accepted it.
I didn't make for an interesting person.
I didn't want to be interesting, it was too hard.
What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone.”