internet.

we are like flies on a trash can.
the syllables of a loud, slow, melancholy sufi song.
dry leaves, withering, falling as autumn approaches.
morning rain. sad, cold. and pink.
the seconds hand of an old wristwatch.
indifferent. like sisyphus. or angry perhaps.
we are the water, that is falling.
in the highest waterfall of the world. now.
or the ends of a deep blue sky.
stereotyped as beautiful. inappropriately of course.
the monochrome orgasm. that pervades everyday.
everywhere. everyone. tired of its ubiquity.
in standing alone. on the deserted bridge. holding it together.
we are the dead. waiting for a life.
while we make fun of the other dead.
and talk of morality.

Bukowski

“For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.” 

--

“Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Back, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.” 

― Women

-- 

“Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.” 

-- Bukowski

Source: www.goodreads.com

paris

i am today.
this ancient proud building on a busy street.
basking in its past. since a century perhaps.
peaceful orange almost.
you. i guess. could be
that pair of tacky red sunglasses
put on by a disinterested beautiful blonde
with white hair and blue eyes busy crossing the busy street
looking the other way.
neither of us knows the other,
only the orange red blue white black
and the busy street.

"what else ?", she said.
after we had discussed the day's weather.
and i didn't know what to say.

Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame - Bukowski

some dogs who sleep at night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coming down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
rotten
past, and
you finally got
out
by dying,
leaving me with the
rotten
present;
you've been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
life;
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
carped
nonsensically about
nonsense;
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that
this dog
still
dreams about. 

Charles Bukowski

love the way you lie.

wherever you are
rest assured. be happy.
the world is in its place.
people, though they drink.
are sleeping well.
the birds. though afraid.
are flying high. singing good.
the sea. although dirty.
is still magnanimous. enough.
the day. meaningless more and more.
is interesting enough. interested rather.
and i. though reluctant.
am still holding up.
so,
wherever you are
rest assured. be happy.
the world is in its place.
people, though they drink.
are sleeping well.

0134.0508.

i am tired of poetry. rudderless.

or maybe she is tired of me.

its not those sailing times anymore.

we have to find time. out of our busy schedules. 

to see each other. yes. she too is busy. 

finding better, suaver prospects. to endorse.
maybe the ones a little less indifferent.

i too have turned reluctant. 

learning to let go of old encumbrances.

its not forgetting you know. just letting go.

knowing that nothing lasts forever.

perhaps.