busblog

nothing in here is true

  1. 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.

  2. Wednesday, April 22, 2015

    she says she has writers block, but thats a crock 

    zuliekayou know who has writers block? the ugh percent.

    the over fed and over thinking.

    bukowski never had no damn writers block.

    the poor and hungry can write and write and write.

    ever kiss a girl who hasnt been kissed properly in a long time? she’ll kiss you all night. you’ll wake up and she’s kissing you. you leave for work and she needs to give you one two three four more kisses so you’ll miss yr bus.

    the words want to come out of you. you know you have stories to tell thoughts to express feelings to emote blushes to gush. africans dont get eating disorders or peanut allergies.

    this is all american bs that we thrust on ourselves to stop ourselves from being vulnerable and deep and interesting and magical. imagine if tolstoy and shakespeare and hemingway and twain said aw no one wants to hear any more stories about the mighty mississippi or fingering anna karenina or drinking in DTLA. imagine if van gogh listened to that little voice in his ear saying no one wants any more fucked up fields of weeds growing beneath the twisty blue sky.

    vincent van did the exact right thing, he cut off that voice in his ear and mailed it to his gay lover.

    part of the job of being creative is jumping over the obstacles that appear in our way to the goal: and the goal is to write down the dreams the angels are whispering. sure they could write it themselves but its better when it comes through us.

    its like when someone covers dylan. or when springsteen sings an old 60s tune during the fifth encore.

    it’s our jobs to write write write dance drink party write kiss rock fuck rinse and repeat.

    never forget.

  3. Tuesday, October 28, 2014

    the irony in this statement is ironic 

    cameron diaz something about mary

    “I remember seeing There’s Something About Mary in the theaters when I was in my 20s, and there’s Cameron Diaz, who looks like Cameron Diaz, but she’s also a doctor, and she also loooves hamburgers, and she starts out playing golf in the morning, and all she wants from a man is a guy who wants to take her to a football game, and she wants to eat hot dogs and drink real beer. Real beer! And I thought, Wow, that’s a cool girl! And then I thought, Oh, right. She’s been invented by guys.”

    – Gillian Flynn, author of Gone Girl
    via vulture

  4. Saturday, October 25, 2014

    the role of a journalist is to do things and go places 

    katie bain and bwhere most people dont get to go

    and talk to people that most people arent able to talk to

    and afterwards you tell your brothers and sisters what you saw and learned.

    i find it ironic that many of my friends who are (or were) professional journalists

    don’t readily blog or do their role despite the fact that they travel and talk with some of the coolest people in the world.

    fortunately katie bain is the exception to the rule. the other day she went into the woods and listened to that music the kids are all koo koo about and when it was over she omg came home and wrote it down.

    here’s an excerpt:

    The concept at this camp is simple and completely fucking genius. You arrive, take off all of your clothes, get inside a huge shower with a bunch of other people, get wet under the shower heads and then get sprayed with soap hoses by people standing above you on an elevated platform. You then dance around in the shower while accidentally (or not, I suppose) sliding up against the other naked soapy bodies around you. Then the people on the platform spray you down with a hose. When you are sufficiently rinsed, you leave the shower and move to the adjacent dance floor, where there is a DJ and an area to brush your teeth, slather yourself in lotion and drink cans of yerba mate while drying off in the sun.

    now you may not think that your lives are as exciting or as interesting as that, but im here to tell you you couldnt be wronger.

    there are subtleties about your life that are just as beautiful and insightful as anything dr. thompson or ee or ms bain has ever jotted down.

    and you’d be lying if you said there was no drama or breakthroughs or surprises that, after the end of the day, you didnt say omg i really need to tell my friend about that.

    we are that friend. and no one can tell it better than you.

    for once in your life ignore that annoying voice in your head that says your stories dont matter or the world will implode if you typed it up or blah blah friggin blah.

    it is the role of a journalist to tell their brothers and sisters what theyve seen and the catch is, we are all journalists.