here I go to mama (2 Viewers)

Hi there everybody!
I guess I'd have to introduce myself first. I'm ...well... who am I? Shit. You know, there are hundreds of words that might describe you as a person. Normally none of them are true. For instance you may say that you're 40 years old but then how come they keep asking you to show your ID at the pub's entrance? I mean, do you look too young, foreign, suspicious, too old or simply too ran down? Or you might say that you're ex rock musician, ex-artist, ex-floor sweeper and ex-delivery boy, at the present time- you're a writer, expat and so on and so forth. What would it all mean? A great many people would suspect you're nothing but damn unemployable smart ass, that's it. Some crazy bum who's got access to a computer... Would you care for that? Hell no. That's why I think it'd be better to switch to someone else. Let's talk about Bukowski. This site is about Bukowski, right?
I think Bukowski was and is the greatest American writer of 20th century. Of course it is only my personal opinion but then I'm writing this to express my own opinion and not anyone else's opinion. It's so funny to think now that I hadn't heard about him nor read his books until several years ago. You see, I hadn't believed anyone could write such stuff. I've read great many books by US, British, Russian, you name it, authors but none of them rang the bell. Bukowski did. His books were the only books that rang the bell. Unfortunately they were also the last. Speaking of the very first book of his that I read... I opened it one crazy evening. My drinking pal gave it to me as a present. It happened in Monterey, California, several ears ago. ( By the way, I've no idea what this pal of mine is up to now. I moved to Europe soon after that, been staying here since.) But Bukowski sent my brains rocking. I've became a different guy since.
P.S. And to think that Bukowski hadn't made any money! I mean, his fame is apparently growing - for instance if you go to the library, and I mean even here, in Europe, you'd notice soon enough that his book are never lie around. They're always on lease. The "best selling' crap on the other hand is gathering dust on shelves. And he died without 77 or whatever millions? Huh! Jesus Christ! When I hear about these 'millions', this god damned paper money, make believe money and make believe fame, really, I want to puke.
P.P.S. You know, it's a great shame but I can't resist it. There's a bunch of stuff I wrote once myself, you might check it out, if you has nothing better to do of course, the address is http:www2.webng.com/babalama. But, for God's sake don't do it if you don't want to. OK? It's probably shit anyway.
Take care and hope to hear from you soon.
 
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Well howdy babalama. Looks like you gotta lot of writing juice in you. That's a mighty big intro. Welcome to bukowski.net, the premier bukowski forum. There isn't a better one to be found anywhere. Enjoy your visits.
 
here I go mama

Thank you all for a kind word of welcome. Yes, I'm glad I stumbled across this site. It seems to me this site stands among those rare ones where they don't pour some "Remember today's mum's day or Here, why don't you get yourself a credit card?' shit down your throat. I mean - Hell! You can talk about literature in here! Hey, I even posted one of my little poems in somewhere around this site! And yeah, speaking of creative juices: I've been having those on and off for years, it's like a chronic diarrhea of sorts.
I live in Turku, Finland now although I'm from California. I'd been living in Prague for 6 years before and before that was Monterey, CA, before that - San Francisco, before that - Idaho, before that - Budapest, before that - St. Petersburg, Russia, before that - oh well... That's a damn long list, isn't it? Anyway, I'm truly glad to be here otherwise life seems bleak and I'm not joking. Just think about it: I'm sitting in my living room right now, typing this stuff while listening to a young couple who lives upstairs, fucking noisily above my head AND I DON'T EVEN HAVE ANYTHING TO DRINK!!!!!
 
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Perhaps we could send you something to drink?...are we allowed to do that in this era of the Shock 'n Awe gang?, would the Rumsfeld Rangers descend on your flat, crashing through the windows wisking you off to some corporate-fascisto gulag, momentarily silencing those urchins upstairs?

Oh hell, I'd send you some good potato vodka and the medicine kit if I could...
 
here i go...

Hey thanks for kind words and everything... It seems like that particular evening was unusual occurence. Normally I hate to write anything in this damn state of soberness. Perhaps you know the feeling...You tend to reflect too much on what you say. But thanks the same. Popato vodka, huh? Nah! I wouldn't like that (unless there's a good company around) I'd tried man's cologne once...when I was fifteen but that's history...
Speaking of Gulag - fortunately I've never had a 'pleasure' but I spent two months in mental hospital in St. Petersburg, Russia ( Leningrad, Soviet Union as these bastards called it back then) when I dodged the army conscription. It wasn't really Gulag but it was memorable never the less. Would beat Ken Kesey right and left. I guess potato vodka would'd been handy in those days.
 
A St. Petersburg mental hospital eh?, now there's a tale of extra-ordinary madness. I too had a trip to the laughing academy whilst an enlisted sailor. Took to the ribald and King Hell seagoing lifestyle like mothers milk. It wasn't long before they thought it all a bit much.

I doubt the details of my stay could top those of the St. Pete asylum though.

Mens (or womens) cologne makes for a poor cocktail.
 
Yes, you're right - it makes damn poor cocktail and it's worse than pure alcohol by far (I found the stink the worst factor)
So you're ex-sailor, huh? That's interesting. My step dad had been a sea captain until he started drinking too much and had to switch to less demanding occupation.
I think it's hard to compare laughing academy graduates' experiences. They're way too personal.
Huh, speaking of mine, later on, when I moved to US, I wrote a book about growing up in Pinko Russia. I failed to find a publisher (perhaps it was due to some rich details I included) but so what? At least here I am, sitting on my ass and typing this.
 

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