Charles Bukowski
June 04, 2009
I have not laughed out loud so much since reading Catch-22 over a decade ago. I told my best friend that I no longer needed him. I'd just read Bukowski for fellowship.
Some might say he's vulgar. I say that vulgar is all that exists once you embrace reality for what it is. Currently reading a collection of short stories entitled, Hot Water Music.
I started laughing from the first page:
"Balls," he said, "I'm tired of painting. Let's get out. I'm tire of the stink of oils. I'm tired of being great. I'm tired of waiting to die. Let's go out."
"Go out where?" she asked.
"Anywhere. Eat, drink, see.""Jorg," she said, "What will I do when you die?"
"You will eat, sleep, fuck, piss, shit, clothe yourself, walk around and bitch."
"I need security."
"We all do."
"I mean, we're not married. I won't even be able to collect your insurance."
"That's all right, don't worry about it. Besides, you don't believe in marriage, Arlene."
Arlene was sitting on the pink chair reading the afternoon newspaper. "You say five thousand women want to sleep with you. What does that leave me?"
"Five thousand and one."
And on it goes...