Charlie
Founding member
It wasn't too long ago. You can read it in my old posts. Bukowski was god. He was a fling that had never flung. Wait, let me explain that.
The way I work, the way I keep myself sane, or at least sane enough to keep the lawn tame and the nights possible, is to have a thing that I latch onto. I'm a big movie man myself, so usually its a group of films, or its one film, or its a director. There've been weeks devoted to the leading men of the German New Wave, to experimental filmmakers like Stan Brakhage, there was a bit of the Swedes, some Jan Svankmejer, some Don Hertzfeldt, a big Koyaanisqatsi phase. There's books to, hell, anything with energy - Bret Easton Ellis with American Psycho, Hunter S. Thompson with Fear and Loathing and The Great Shark Hunt etc. etc., and Andrew Vacchs........
etc.
etc.
etc.
But Bukowski was a different fling. I had a connection. I think we all had a connection with the old drunk. Hell, if we didn't, we wouldn't be talking about him right here. Yeah, I've got a problem with loneliness. Yeah, I'm not a talkative kind of a jerkoff. Yeah, I'm a bum and a sclub and schmuck. That's why I love Bukowski. Because he was like that, and he made it work. He got away with it. Its like fucking the devil's wife and living to brag about it.
Of course, I thought he was god, or at least god's drinking buddy. I'm a guy who knows good words from bad, and this fucking drunk womanizer was serenading me with books named after genatalia and methods of suicide. What a cocksucker, what a genius, right? That's what I thought.
Then, after a long period of like two years with this guy, I kind of move on. And now, looking back, I'm not so reverential about him. Don't get me wrong, I still consider him one of the best, and I still hold him in high esteem, but I can really look back, like god over his antfarm, and see that it was an obsession and thus a passion fueled by obsession and thus an inflated obsession.
I love Bukowski. But now I know why. And I suppose I'm all the better for it. That's it.
The way I work, the way I keep myself sane, or at least sane enough to keep the lawn tame and the nights possible, is to have a thing that I latch onto. I'm a big movie man myself, so usually its a group of films, or its one film, or its a director. There've been weeks devoted to the leading men of the German New Wave, to experimental filmmakers like Stan Brakhage, there was a bit of the Swedes, some Jan Svankmejer, some Don Hertzfeldt, a big Koyaanisqatsi phase. There's books to, hell, anything with energy - Bret Easton Ellis with American Psycho, Hunter S. Thompson with Fear and Loathing and The Great Shark Hunt etc. etc., and Andrew Vacchs........
etc.
etc.
etc.
But Bukowski was a different fling. I had a connection. I think we all had a connection with the old drunk. Hell, if we didn't, we wouldn't be talking about him right here. Yeah, I've got a problem with loneliness. Yeah, I'm not a talkative kind of a jerkoff. Yeah, I'm a bum and a sclub and schmuck. That's why I love Bukowski. Because he was like that, and he made it work. He got away with it. Its like fucking the devil's wife and living to brag about it.
Of course, I thought he was god, or at least god's drinking buddy. I'm a guy who knows good words from bad, and this fucking drunk womanizer was serenading me with books named after genatalia and methods of suicide. What a cocksucker, what a genius, right? That's what I thought.
Then, after a long period of like two years with this guy, I kind of move on. And now, looking back, I'm not so reverential about him. Don't get me wrong, I still consider him one of the best, and I still hold him in high esteem, but I can really look back, like god over his antfarm, and see that it was an obsession and thus a passion fueled by obsession and thus an inflated obsession.
I love Bukowski. But now I know why. And I suppose I'm all the better for it. That's it.