Some days nothing seems to work out.
It’s not that anything is bad, relatively speaking, but it’s also nothing good, nothing going the way you want.
Shoelace moments, I call them, in reference my favorite Bukowski poem.
with each broken shoelace
out of one hundred broken shoelaces,
one man, one woman, one
thing
enters a
madhouse.
so be careful
when you
bend over.
It’s that shit, all day long. Nothing that means anything, really, but,
Just the fucking shoelace.