The A Bomb

…but meanwhile

this post is revived from my old blog but I think the message is still very pertinent. New material coming monday.

    someday I’m going to write a primer for crippled saints but meanwhile…

as the Bomb sits out there in the hands of a
diminishing species
all you want
is me sitting next to you
with popcorn and Dr. Pepper
as those dull celluloid teeth
chew away at
my remains.

I don’t worry too much about the
Bomb ? the madhouses are full
and I always remember
after one of the best pieces of ass
I ever had
I went to the bathroom and
masturbated ? hard to kill a man
like that with a

anyhow, I’ve finally shaken
R. Jeffers and Celine from my belltower
and I sit there alone
with you and
as the real and the
artificial heart
continues to falter,

I love you but
I don’t know what
to do.

-Charles Bukowski

I have read many other poets, it’s just that I’ve just been re-reading bukowski over and over for something like 6 years. I suspect it had a lot to do with LA itself. This city still breathes him out and you can feel it like a hot wind off the Santa Ana’s often. We, him and I, may have come to a crossroads. I still think his work is exceptional in that it is untethered by fear, utterly unabashedly, emotionally naked. As I get older, he makes me wince more than I used to. The more fragile you become the harder it is to read about weakness, maybe it’s fear of mental instability by suggestion. He did find great success, in fact he’s still lauded for just as many right reasons as wrong ones. On the other side of the coin his youth was bitter & malnourished, he fought circumstances and personal demons so very hard throughout his life, to do something so beautiful as be a poet, albeit one that raised the hackles of many a do-gooder and academic. The world will never know if he’d lived under the shelter of privilege and comfort if he’d have become half the writer he did. But it makes me very sad to think it would have ruined him artistically to have had that peace.

The A Bomb