My friend Kim (@_kimzilla) sent this to me a while back and I thought I’d share it. She doesn’t know who wrote it and I haven’t found out yet either, but I think it’s pretty rad and pretty true to form. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

The life of a poet is a hell of a life.

It’s a dog’s life. But it’s the only one worth living.”

You suffer

more, you’re frustrated more. All the things that don’t bother other

people. But you also live so much more. You live so much more

intensely and so much more vitally and with so mch more of a sense of

meaning, of consequentiality. Of things mattering instead of nothing

mattering. This is what’s driving our whole civilization into suicide.

The fear that we are living an existence in which nothing matters very

much at all … The poet is free of that … if you’re a real poet,

you’re hooked more deeply than any narcotics addict could possibly be

hooked on heroin … Something that is a process which cannot be too

far from the process that created everything.