But that’s the tricky thing. Nobody’s memory is perfect or complete. We jumble things up.
We lose track of time. We are in one place and another. And it all feels like one long, inescapable moment. It’s just like my mother used to say. The carousel never stops turning.
Something else is hurting you - that’s why you need pot or whiskey, or whips and rubber suits, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can’t thinkCharles Bukowski (via youcancallmecupcake)