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bukowski appreciation thread


Future Droid

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haha. cliff notes! dude! totally esoteric! the internet! rapture!

 

look good will fronting, if you want to do a better job of answering the guy's question in under 30 seconds be my guest. just spare me the half-assed first year creative writing student attempt at being condescending, "plz".

 

k thnkz!

 

yo man. ease off. you ought to know as well as i how little manic summaries aren't going to do a lifetime's worth. is all i'm saying.

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yo man. ease off. you ought to know as well as i how little manic summaries aren't going to do a lifetime's worth. is all i'm saying.

 

Hah. My bad. I thought you were going in a completely different direction with that.

 

I get pissy when snobby-ass bookworms try to tell me that I'm 'totally missing the point' when (without souding like too much of a prick) I think most writers just do their thing and want you to get whatever you can out of their material; especially dudes like Bukowski, who probably never aimed for his theme to amount to some grand 'magnum opus'. Nahmsayin?

 

Anyway... word to Chinaski. Bi-line tyrant. What up Mikey Rourke? Stay up. One!

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Guest nutsonmychin!

if you like Bukowski...

 

check out "You Cant Win" by Jack Black (no, not the effing comedian)

 

it's a really really good book!!

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I get pissy when snobby-ass bookworms try to tell me that I'm 'totally missing the point' when (without souding like too much of a prick) I think most writers just do their thing and want you to get whatever you can out of their material; especially dudes like Bukowski, who probably never aimed for his theme to amount to some grand 'magnum opus'. Nahmsayin?

 

yeah. especially true when if asked what his work was about he would say "i don't know". who does, really? no one really knows why they do what they do. even worse when critics act like they do know.

 

nothing but love to bukowski for getting me through hard times with his hard knocks life.

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Bukowski, Charles:poem for personnel managers: [from The Days Run Away Like Wild

Horses Over the Hills (1969), Black Sparrow Press]

 

 

1 An old man asked me for a cigarette

2 and I carefully dealt out two.

3 "Been lookin' for job. Gonna stand

4 in the sun and smoke."

 

 

5 He was close to rags and rage

6 and he leaned against death.

7 It was a cold day, indeed, and trucks

8 loaded and heavy as old whores

9 banged and tangled on the streets ...

 

 

10 We drop like planks from a rotting floor

11 as the world strives to unlock the bone

12 that weights its brain.

13 (God is a lonely place without steak.)

 

 

14 We are dying birds

15 we are sinking ships---

16 the world rocks down against us

17 and we

18 throw out our arms

19 and we

20 throw out our legs

21 like the death kiss of the centipede:

22 but they kindly snap our backs

23 and call our poison "politics."

 

 

24 Well, we smoked, he and I---little men

25 nibbling fish-head thoughts ...

 

[Page 26]

 

 

 

26 All the horses do not come in,

27 and as you watch the lights of the jails

28 and hospitals wink on and out,

29 and men handle flags as carefully as babies,

30 remember this:

 

 

31 you are a great-gutted instrument of

32 heart and belly, carefully planned---

33 so if you take a plane for Savannah,

34 take the best plane;

35 or if you eat chicken on a rock,

36 make it a very special animal.

37 (You call it a bird; I call birds

38 flowers.)

 

 

39 And if you decide to kill somebody,

40 make it anybody and not somebody:

41 some men are made of more special, precious

42 parts: do not kill

43 if you will

44 a president or a King

45 or a man

46 behind a desk---

47 these have heavenly longitudes

48 enlightened attitudes.

 

 

49 If you decide,

50 take us

51 who stand and smoke and glower;

52 we are rusty with sadness and

53 feverish

54 with climbing broken ladders.

 

 

55 Take us:

56 we were never children

57 like your children.

 

[Page 27]

 

58 We do not understand love songs

59 like your inamorata.

 

 

60 Our faces are cracked linoleum,

61 cracked through with the heavy, sure

62 feet of our masters.

 

 

63 We are shot through with carrot tops

64 and poppyseed and tilted grammar;

65 we waste days like mad blackbirds

66 and pray for alcoholic nights.

67 Our silk-sick human smiles wrap around

68 us like somebody else's confetti:

69 we do not even belong to the Party.

 

 

70 We are a scene chalked-out with the

71 sick white brush of Age.

 

 

72 We smoke, asleep as a dish of figs.

73 We smoke, dead as a fog.

 

 

74 Take us.

 

 

75 A bathtub murder

76 or something quick and bright; our names

77 in the papers.

 

 

78 Known, at last, for a moment

79 to millions of careless and grape-dull eyes

80 that hold themselves private

81 to only flicker and flame

82 at the poor cracker-barrel jibes

83 of their conceited, pampered correct comedians.

 

 

84 Known, at last, for a moment,

85 as they will be known

 

[Page 28]

 

86 and as you will be known

87 by an all-gray man on an all-gray horse

88 who sits and fondles a sword

89 longer than the night

90 longer than the mountain's aching backbone

91 longer than all the cries

92 that have a-bombed up out of throats

93 and exploded in a newer, less-planned

94 land.

 

 

95 We smoke and the clouds do not notice us.

96 A cat walks by and shakes Shakespeare off of his back.

97 Tallow, tallow, candle like wax: our spines

98 are limp and our consciousness burns

99 guilelessly away

100 the remaining wick life has

101 doled out to us.

 

 

102 An old man asked me for a cigarette

103 and told me his troubles

104 and this

105 is what he said:

106 that Age was a crime

107 and that Pity picked up the marbles

108 and that Hatred picked up the

109 cash.

 

 

110 He might have been your father

111 or mine.

 

 

112 He might have been a sex-fiend

113 or a saint.

 

 

114 But whatever he was,

115 he was condemned

116 and we stood in the sun and

 

[Page 29]

 

117 smoked

118 and looked around

119 in our leisure

120 to see who was next in

121 line.

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