Tuesday, March 29, 2011

One of his best books ever written in my opinion. A must to own for sure. Belongs beside the greats!!

The Aliens by Charles Bukowski (Last of the Earth poems)

Buk,,,,,,funny stuff!!!

Back to the machine gun

I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail
in my old torn bathrobe.
I'm hung over
hair down in my eyes
barefoot
gingerly walking on the small sharp rocks
in my path
still afraid of pain behind my four-day beard.

the young housewife next door shakes a rug
out of her window and sees me:
"hello, Hank!"

god damn! it's almost like being shot in the ass
with a .22

"hello," I say
gathering up my Visa card bill, my Pennysaver coupons,
a Dept. of Water and Power past-due notice,
a letter from the mortgage people
plus a demand from the Weed Abatement Department
giving me 30 days to clean up my act.

I mince back again over the small sharp rocks
thinking, maybe I'd better write something tonight,
they all seem
to be closing in.

there's only one way to handle those motherfuckers.

the night harness races will have to wait.

Charles Bukowski

Bukowski reads "The Secret of My Endurance"

Nirvana

not much chance, 
completely cut loose from 
purpose, 
he was a young man 
riding a bus 
through North Carolina 
on the wat to somewhere 
and it began to snow 
and the bus stopped 
at a little cafe 
in the hills 
and the passengers 
entered. 
he sat at the counter 
with the others, 
he ordered and the 
food arived. 
the meal was 
particularly 
good 
and the 
coffee. 
the waitress was 
unlike the women 
he had 
known. 
she was unaffected, 
there was a natural 
humor which came 
from her. 
the fry cook said 
crazy things. 
the dishwasher. 
in back, 
laughed, a good 
clean 
pleasant 
laugh. 
the young man watched 
the snow through the 
windows. 
he wanted to stay 
in that cafe 
forever. 
the curious feeling 
swam through him 
that everything 
was 
beautiful 
there, 
that it would always 
stay beautiful 
there. 
then the bus driver 
told the passengers 
that it was time 
to board. 
the young man 
thought, I'll just sit 
here, I'll just stay 
here. 
but then 
he rose and followed 
the others into the 
bus. 
he found his seat 
and looked at the cafe 
through the bus 
window. 
then the bus moved 
off, down a curve, 
downward, out of 
the hills. 
the young man 
looked straight 
foreward. 
he heard the other 
passengers 
speaking 
of other things, 
or they were 
reading 
or 
attempting to 
sleep. 
they had not 
noticed 
the 
magic. 
the young man 
put his head to 
one side, 
closed his 
eyes, 
pretended to 
sleep. 
there was nothing 
else to do- 
just to listen to the 
sound of the 
engine, 
the sound of the 
tires 
in the 
snow.