1. Wednesday, May 28, 2014

    some ppl type about bukowski like they know him 

    bukowskithey pretend theyve read him.

    likewise they think they know the first thing about this 22 year old virgin

    living in isla vista.

    i can imagine being on the moon

    but i have no clue what it would be like to be 22 and never had even held hands with a girl

    i was a 21 year old virgin in isla vista many moons ago.

    long before instagram and facebook and twitter and youtube.

    i cant imagine what weird ideas i would have had about my classmates if that was shoved in my face

    but id not only kissed a girl or two before that, but had love.

    still, i dont know the first thing about that stupid sad murderer who is now dead

    and good riddance.

    anyways, for some reason when you mention bukowski to some people all they remember is when he kicked his adorable wife Linda in that doc.

    i flinched too when i saw it at first.

    we forget that the drunken fool, the guy who rarely refused barfights (in his tales), could turn on the woman who loved him the most. on camera. for a brief moment in time.

    we forget that people are complicated.

    we try to pretend that we aren’t.

    heres my favorite bukowski poem

    bluebird

    there’s a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I’m too tough for him,
    I say, stay in there, I’m not going
    to let anybody see
    you.
    there’s a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
    cigarette smoke
    and the ****s and the bartenders
    and the grocery clerks
    never know that
    he’s
    in there.

    there’s a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I’m too tough for him,
    I say,
    stay down, do you want to mess
    me up?
    you want to screw up the
    works?
    you want to blow my book sales in
    Europe?
    there’s a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I’m too clever, I only let him out
    at night sometimes
    when everybody’s asleep.
    I say, I know that you’re there,
    so don’t be
    sad.
    then I put him back,
    but he’s singing a little
    in there, I haven’t quite let him
    die
    and we sleep together like
    that
    with our
    secret pact
    and it’s nice enough to
    make a man
    weep, but I don’t
    weep, do
    you?