And why should it?
In an age where we're actually deeming cell phones smart and naming our global positioning systems, "tweeting" our thoughts constantly (in 140 characters or less) and making books out of our faces, could we really expect journalism's transition into the digital world to go more smoothly than the rest of them? It's a whole new landscape, a whole new world out there filled with a site for every strange interest and a place for anyone to say anything. While I'm all for free speech, the plethora of it makes it hard to sort through the good and the bad. It's a world for everyone, and no one. Where do you go if you're not in the mood for its many options, when you're overwhelmed by the decision?
a plausible finish
there ought to be a place to go
when you can’t sleep
or you’re tired of getting drunk
and the grass doesn’t work anymore,
and I don’t mean go on
to hash or cocaine,
I mean a place to go besides
a death that’s waiting
and a love that doesn’t work
anymore.
there ought to be a place to go
when you can’t sleep
besides a tv set or a movie
or a newspaper
or a novel about a woman
whit her clit in her throat.
it’s not having that place to go
that creates the people in madhouses
and the suicides.
I suppose what most people do
when there isn’t any place to go
is to go to someplace or something
that hardly satisfies them,
and this ritual tends to sandpaper them
into a dullness where they can relax
without hope.
those faces you see everyday on the streets
were not created
entirely without
hope: be kind to them:
like you
they have not
escaped.
-Charles Bukowski
a plausible finish
there ought to be a place to go
when you can’t sleep
or you’re tired of getting drunk
and the grass doesn’t work anymore,
and I don’t mean go on
to hash or cocaine,
I mean a place to go besides
a death that’s waiting
and a love that doesn’t work
anymore.
there ought to be a place to go
when you can’t sleep
besides a tv set or a movie
or a newspaper
or a novel about a woman
whit her clit in her throat.
it’s not having that place to go
that creates the people in madhouses
and the suicides.
I suppose what most people do
when there isn’t any place to go
is to go to someplace or something
that hardly satisfies them,
and this ritual tends to sandpaper them
into a dullness where they can relax
without hope.
those faces you see everyday on the streets
were not created
entirely without
hope: be kind to them:
like you
they have not
escaped.
-Charles Bukowski
there ought to be a place to go
when you can’t sleep
or you’re tired of getting drunk
and the grass doesn’t work anymore,
and I don’t mean go on
to hash or cocaine,
I mean a place to go besides
a death that’s waiting
and a love that doesn’t work
anymore.
there ought to be a place to go
when you can’t sleep
besides a tv set or a movie
or a newspaper
or a novel about a woman
whit her clit in her throat.
it’s not having that place to go
that creates the people in madhouses
and the suicides.
I suppose what most people do
when there isn’t any place to go
is to go to someplace or something
that hardly satisfies them,
and this ritual tends to sandpaper them
into a dullness where they can relax
without hope.
those faces you see everyday on the streets
were not created
entirely without
hope: be kind to them:
like you
they have not
escaped.
-Charles Bukowski
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