Just finished the book “Another Bullshit Night in Suck City” which is a great memoir about a guy who works in a homeless shelter where his dad takes refuge. Their paths cross, the author confesses to doing some pretty crazy things and barely keeps himself from living on the streets as well. The book, written by the poet Nick Flynn, is beautifully written and totally captivating.
One little excerpt that i’m thinking of today:
If one were a a Buddhist, one might say we spend much of our lives in “monkey-mind,” swinging from story to story, our thoughts never quiet. Perhaps it is our fear, that in the silence between stories, in the moment of falling, the fear that we will never find the one story which will save us, and so we lunge for another, and we feel safe again, if only for as long as w are telling it.
Nick Flynn (345)
