Bukowskis geni

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
as he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it’s not pretty

it was the first time I’d
realized
that.

—Charles Bukowski

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notice

citizens of the world
I renounce you.

I have
long ago.
but this is a formal
notice.
me against
you.
a restraining
order.

fuck off.
dry up.
vanish.

don’t come to
my door
with pizza
pussy
or offers of
peace.

it’s too late.

the music has
frozen in the
air
castrated by the
absence of your
presence.

– Charles Bukowski

Fotnot: Min dröm om att inte se en enda minut av fotbolls-VM sprack i går. Jag var bjuden till en vän för lite manhäng innan krogen, och dum som jag var hade jag ingen tanke på att män blänger på fotboll: det gör män. USA mot Ghana, ghananerna vann. ”Ghananerna” är en lustig böjning. Jag hatar fotboll.

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Finish

We are like roses that have never bothered to
bloom when we should have bloomed and
it is as if
the sun has become disgusted with
waiting

– Charles Bukowski

Varje söndag är förlamande lång tid, ögon som öppnas i gryningen, rader som faller mellan raderna, en mobil som aldrig blinkar och böcker som hånflinar åt mig – alltmedan kuken dinglar obesudlad.

Sedan jag slutade supa hatar jag söndagar.

Basattuvet.

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Some people

some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I’ll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they’ll find me there.
it’s Cherub, they’ll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.

then, I’ll rise with a roar,
rant, rage -
curse them and the universe
as I send them scattering over the
lawn.
I’ll feel much better,
sit down to toast and eggs,
hum a little tune,
suddenly become as lovable as a
pink
overfed whale.

some people never go crazy.
what truly horrible lives
they must lead.

– Charles Bukowski

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The Secret of My Endurance

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Charles Bukowski hade självdistans. Inget snack om saken.

Befinner mig på en konstig plats just nu. Jobbet, privatlivet och allt däremellan – det är snurrigt.

Men inget som inte går att lösa med lite självdistans, Bukowski, cigaretter och alkohol.

Gott så.

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Bluebird

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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 whores 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?

– Charles Bukowski

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