busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. Monday, October 24, 2016

    maybe i wasnt meant to be bukowski 

    John Martin and Bukowski

    maybe i was meant to be john martin, the publisher who “discovered” him.

    despite the fact that he was getting printed in various magazines and smut papers, charles bukowski, as legend would have it, was plucked from obscurity by a book publisher in santa barbara

    who told him that he would pay him whatever he was currently being paid at the post office

    and then give him royalties on his books

    if only he would quit sorting mail.

    the deal was agreed to and the rest was literature history.

    if i was a publisher i would pay good money to get Zulieka outta the mail room

    because look what she wrote yesterday

  2. Tuesday, August 16, 2016

    today is charles bukowski’s birthday, he’s 24 

    charles bukowski let it kill youborn in a rowboat in Lake Los Angeles during the stock market crash, charles bukowski, americas greatest poet, never saw riches until he was in his 50s and never cared about them once he had them.

    what he loved he did, be he broke or wealthy: the drink, the dance, the fight, the fuck.

    he had a higher voice than youd expect and he sang when he spoke.

    how do you doooooo, he’d say as his horse rounded the home stretch with the lead.

    he loved to gamble on the ponies so much that he’d often drop off his wife at the huntington library in pasadena even if the horses were running in hollywood park. afterwards he would pick her up. was he drunk? probably. did he ever get a DUI?

    did mark twain?

    did hemingway?

    did Moses?

    if you were talking to Tom Petty right now would you ask him such a question?

    Charles “Henry” Bukowski loved cats and classical music. he didnt care for your questions unless you were a pretty girl at a poetry reading at a college where he was invited to speak. and then he would just watch their lips move and eyes crinkle and hair gently flow.

    did he ever cheat on any of his girlfriends or wives? WHERE DID YOU GET THESE QUESTIONS? DID ROOSEVELT? DID MONROE? DID LASORDA?

    he smoked when he drank and drank when he wrote and wrote in a rocking chair in front of a typewriter until the year 19 hundred and 90, the year punk broke when he switched over to an Apple Quadra. the step brother of the Mac. a very young Steve Jobs himself  poured sand in Bukowski’s keyboard so the clicking sounds would be louder.

    once Jobs offered Bukowski LSD but the poet didn’t want any of that nonsense. he wasn’t a Beat! he’d bellow. give that hippie crap to Ferlinghetti or Proust or Philben! he just wanted a cold bottle of something bubbly

    and your undying love.

    you, the one with the ruby red lip colors

    you with the barrette

    you with the notepad half filled with scribbles.

    hop into my rowboat.

  3. Friday, September 18, 2015

    the lesson of charles bukowski 

    charles bukowski

    friend of the busblog, heather the rabbit havrilesky aka ask polly got a great letter this week and responded to it in the perfect way.

    someone wrote to her and said that shes a freelance writer and shes done ok but some of her friends have done better and she hasnt really gotten over the hump yet and oprah hasnt shined her light on her yet and well “Should I Just Give Up on My Writing?“.

    and heather, writing in new york magazine answered perfect and said YES FOOL! (jk) but the one little minor thing she left out of her otherwise sparkling incredible response was the lesson of charles bukowski.

    bukowskiamericas greatest poet WAS NOT DOING OK when he was 50. he wasnt living in silver lake, he wasnt living with a spouse who supported him emotionally, he wasnt any freelance writer, he was struggling, he was living in east hollywood working for the post office. he hated the post office. he was drunk. he was ugly. he was overweight. he had anger issues. he smoked. he gambled. he got in fights. he won zero fights. he was being rejected over and over and over.

    but he kept writing. sometimes for money. sometimes because he was a horny middle aged man and some sex papers would let him write out his bizarre fantasies for beer money. but he kept writing.

    it wasn’t UNTIL he was 50 that a rich, visionary publisher from santa barbara discovered bukowski and said dude whatever the post office is paying you i’ll pay you just write and i’ll split the royalties with you.

    the lesson of bukowski is keep doing what you love. who cares that your friends are on tv or writing for new york magazine or married or have a house or two houses or three houses. or fourteen wives. or all their hair or the hair of fourteen sheep dogs.

    keep doing what you love.

    or if for some reason youve never gotten around to start doing what you love: start. because. thats why. start! some people never get the chance to start. they fool around with fireworks and their hands get blowed off. or they get involved in a dead end job or a super sexy woman and their lives get destroyed.

    the lesson of bukowski is motor through all of that. we have so many hours in the day. surely there are a few of them where you could stop watching tv or stop reading books or stop sleeping and sleeping and sleeping and you will get off your ass and express yourself, madonna. surely there is an ounce of courage that you can squeeze out into the juice glass of life and share.

    surely you know that your friends are wonderful but they are not you and you have a unique story to tell that is all yours and no one elses and only you can deliver it. and if you dont tell it no one will, which is a lie, actually someone will but, spoiler alert: they will fuck it up royally.

    so you better write it down and quickly.

    the lesson of bukowski is god bless oprah but she’s dunzo and theres no one else whos gonna save your soul except jewel and shes happily married to a rodeo cowboy so you better work rupaul.

    that is what i learned from bukowski and i never would have learned it if he had given up on writing and just did his post office gig and drank and whined that he didnt have hella twitter followers. so you write your damn deal and f the haters in ur head.

  4. Sunday, August 16, 2015

    todays bukowski and madonnas birthdays, theyre 24 

    bukowski, madonnahad a good hot weekend. it was hot. like hottern itd been all year.

    slept over the covers with the windows open and the fan twirling and the cats purring and the moon looking down saying it dont look that hot from up heres

    and the earth saying who the hell asked you anyways

    friday ali said what are you up to tonight i said imma see a one woman show. she said no way. i said i know i never do that.

    she said i wanna come. i said fine meet me at my place and we’ll take a lyft over there. she said not an uber?

    i said, its good to keep the competition going.

    the show was The Mermaid who learned how to Fly. kyla garcia. she was incredible. did like 20 different characters. two of them were in love with her. so basically she made out with herself twice.

    once even as a lady.

    it took me a little while to get into it because i dont go to plays. and it was hot. and you have to suspend your belief and just let go. but once you do, it gets fantastic.

    so at first i didnt like her irish narrator fairy lady but as the play went on i kept hoping for her to come back, and when she did i was so happy. also of interest was the narrator was sorta falling apart physically as the play went on. bad back. it was funny. kyla was very surprising.

    after that ali and i went to malo and ate tacos and drank margueritas. im not crazy about that place but its close and they had an outside so we cooled off.

    saturday i ubered a little. hit my goal and then went to the academy to see Straight Outta Compton. it needs to be stated that since that record dropped back when i was in college, NWA and that record have been super important to me.

    so to see it for free in the best theater in LA was incredible.

    ice cube and the fans

    full house. and almost everyone stayed afterwards to hear Ice Cube, his son, the director, a producer, and the dudes who played Dr. Dre and Eazy talk about it.

    ive never seen that many people stay.

    or cheer so many times at the end.

    i give the movie a B+ but i give ice cube an A+ for staying after the talk and taking pictures with everyone who asked. which were hundreds. he didnt care. he soaked it in.

    and the movie won the weekend. making something like $60 million. smash hit of the summer. a movie about black gangsta rappers whose music is not played on the radio. and yet one of the rappers turns into a movie star another tuns into a billionaire and a third dies of AIDS. so freaky.

    xbi texted me when i was still in the theatre. they wanted a favor i said no. they said order an uber and we can help you out.

    tanya and freedai said i didnt need any help. i was happy. i was in great spirits and i wasnt gonna do squat on sunday. they said dont be a dope, order an uber.

    and when i did a toyota avalon appeared with this great reggae singer as a driver

    and two swedish girls in the back

    and the whole trip i thought, theyre gonna kill me, arent they?

    this is how it ends?

    reggae!

    reggae in swedish probably means good bye i thought but no

    id been to sweden and i knew that hej då meant good bye

    or did it mean hello?

    the girls were just laughing at me.

    they kept calling me Chicago.

    hey Chicago, why dont you change your clothes and meet us at the Chateau

    i said how do you say nothing ever good happens to chicagoans

    late at night at the chateau

    in swedish

  5. Saturday, August 16, 2014

    today is charles bukowski and madonnas birthdays, theyre 24 

    madonna

    last night i drove an 18 yr old kuwaiti kid from marina del rey to newport beach.

    hundred bucks.

    he sat in the front seat and told me about how in kuwait they’ll throw you in jail for life for having a beer

    if a girl dates a guy and they break up and dont get married then shes shunned forever

    that the worse thing you could do to you or your family is say youre an atheist.

    88 minute drive and the whole way was nonstop about the persian gulf, religion and politics as wiz kalifa bumped in the background.

    traffic was light, he had just been to six flags with his buddy, he wants to study engineering out here for college but it’s very hard he says for international students to get into a UC unless they have a 4.0 average.

    so, just like i did, he is going to take two years of junior college and transfer in that way.

    he says he loves LA, was not impressed by San Diego, was too young for Vegas, but thinks Dubai is the coolest place in the world.

    no offense sir, but their taxis are Bentleys.

    i dropped him off at a swanky hotel near fashion island and watched as cars unloaded with the most amazing young women in outfits i had not seen in hollywood.

    and i was, salaam alaikum, g

    and he was like alaikum salaam

  6. Wednesday, July 16, 2014

    every writers goal shouldnt be to write three good books like bukowski 

    tumblr_n7vzjbEsH61rkyq1oo5_500

    it should be to write one good one.

    like a really good one.

    one thats more about all of us instead of just you.

    one that future Tumblr kids can quote on their hologram blogs.

    one that has meaning and surprises and is edgy and woulda gotten banned just like all the other great banned books.

    one thats so good you need to write it under a fake name because it tells all the juicy stuff thats still juicy long after youre dead.

    lets say you had a grandpa and hes long gone and you get a package one day from the people who now own his house

    and they send you an old golden paged diary with a note:

    we found this in our attic. it belonged to your relative. its so personal and good we dont feel right keeping it.

    we googled you and found how to get this to you.

    we promise we didnt read too much. sorry.

    and when you read it you’re all GRAMPA!

    thats the book we should be writing right now.

  7. 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?

  8. Tuesday, May 27, 2014
  9. Saturday, May 24, 2014

    one of the best things about bukowski is he was not pretty 

    bukowski with catand yet he still got laid.

    truly valuable lesson because any man can strut around if he’s tall handsome and wealthy

    imagine youre squat, pockmarked, fat and you live a block from skid row.

    if you can pull with all that working against you then yeah people should read your books.

    last night a rich pretty boy from the valley drove a new bmw around a college town and shot at blonde girls who in his mind wouldn’t give him the time of day

    he killed six college kids including one that he ran over.

    in a series of youtube videos he said he was frustrated because he was 22 and hadnt even held a girls hand let alone had sex with anyone

    despite being what he considered to be beautiful.

    charles bukowski needs to be taught in every school.

    bukowski too was dismayed by a good chunk of american society but he pushed through.

    in fact the main themes of his poetry and prose is no matter what cards you are dealt, you play them

    you dont turn over the table, you dont cheat, you dont raise your fist at the sky and ask why wasnt i born a six foot five water polo god

    you do you your thing, you make your own luck, you turn to the woman next to you

    and you accept what comes next.

    despite being ridiculously prolific, bukowski would sometimes go back to his masterpieces and edit them before they were published or placed in an anthology.

    the 1977 poem The Crunch probably would have resonated best with last night’s killer who was quickly shot dead by local sheriffs.

    here are the three versions of it, all great in their little ways.

    “there is a loneliness in this world so great
    that you can see it in the slow movement of
    the hands of a clock”

    states bukowski. plainly. almost scientifically.

    please tell me the city college virgin wouldnt have seen himself in this bit from the final edited version:

    “we forget the terror of one person
    aching in one room
    alone
    unkissed
    untouched
    cut off
    watering a plant alone
    without a telephone that would never
    ring
    anyway.”

    the lesson of bukowski is he can bust out with something like that, such a clear stark blast

    but when he’s done he pours a glass of wine,

    smiles to himself

    drinks the wine, alone or otherwise

    and feels beautiful inside

    where it counts.

  10. Saturday, October 19, 2013

    i understand fear, trust me, i do. but i also have experienced love 

    bukowski

    and i pity the fools who avoid true love

    omg omg omg love

    the kind that doesnt fade away after the typical expiration date

    the kind that if you werent naked with each other youd still be obsessive friends

    true love

    ever lasting love.

    i pity the fools who shy away from that sorta love cuz theyre afraid it might hurt them somehow.

    afraid it doesnt exist. they know it exists.

    they read how love inspires people to write novels and movies and carve giant statues

    and hold boom boxes over their heads

    in the rain

    under the cherry moon.

    somethings gonna kill us. every movie ends.

    no sense in playing it safe. there is no safe. there is just a cliff in the distance that we all fall off.

    people are gonna cry at your funeral pretty girl.

    make sure those tears are for the beautiful explosion of joy your life was

    and not for the potential you never ever reached.