
If only this were a required attribute to be considered an “adult” of our species.
So Prince is dead. And with the current media-driven hysteria being the boogeyman (boogeypersons?) of transgenders in bathrooms, the overlap and juxtaposition this, and of people mourning his loss, creates a sort of absurd, but beautiful music.
So it seems Bukowski didn’t actually say that. Still, it’s a powerful sentiment. Here’s the full quote, by… whoever:
“Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain from you your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you, and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.”
The point remains though; the things we love own us. That’s the trade-off in loving anything or anyone.