Chagrin between shelves
Read too deeply of the books, says Jack London,
and you find the universe a terrible place.
While all the other people were playing Greeks,
laughing, fucking with the windows open,
the writers were cramped and hot in hells
of their own invention, tinkering with letters,
starving their pleasures and forging
particular miseries for general conditions.
How condemned, how curious, how curmudgeonly
the readers of miserable men of letters are,
how alike, how mired in spite, and misinformed!