Why me?--- the great complaint of the constipated. Why doesn't the world work for me? The lonely sitting man in the porcelain machine. What did i do wrong yesterday? How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday in me? Unlock me! Exhausted Houdini! Lost ordinary magic! The squatting man bargains with god, submitting list after list of New Year's Resolutions. I will eat only lettuce. Give me diarrhea if I've got to have something. Let me help the flowers and dung beetles. Let me into the world club. I am not enjoying sunsets, then for whom do they burn? I'll miss my train. My portion of the world's work will not be done, I warn you. If sphincter must be coin let it be Chinese coin. Why me? I'll use science against you. I'll drop in pills like depth charges. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't make it tighter. Nothing helps, is that what you want me to learn? The straining man perched on a circle prepares to abandon all systems. Take hope, take cathedrals, take the radio, take my research. These are hard to give up, but a load of shit is harder still. How can I exist as a vessel of yesterday's slaughter? Is meat punishing me? Are there wild herds who think poorly of me? We are grooming beings to eat! Does God love the world? What a monstrous system of nourishment! Humans, the dietary nazis! Who will apologize to the cows? It's not our fault, we didn't think this whole thing up. Tomorrow I will begin my fast. I resign. But I can't resign with a full stomach. I would stink at an autopsy. Nobody wants to eat me i'm sure. I am the sealed, dead, impervious museum of my appetite. This is the brutal solitude of constipation, this is the way the world is lost.

excerpt from:
Beautiful Losers
by Leonard Cohen