Bukowski's Tucson

in bed with the flu and reading Rabelais

as the cat snores

the bathroom toilet

hisses

and my eyes burn.

I put Rabelais down

and blink.

this is what

writers do

to each other.

for him, I

substitute

a tab of

vitamin C.

if we could only swallow

death

like that (I think we

can)

or that death would

swallow us

like that (I think it

does).

life is not what

we think it

is, it's only what we

imagine it to

be

BUKOWSKI'S TUCSON

TURBULENCE

the flight was turbulent

4 hours and 5 minutes

through a winter storm

the next day brother Mike

careens me over hill and dale

in a broken down Audi

Demonstrating g-forces on

mountain roads. The views

were great but we couldn't stop.

for we were in a hurry

to join

500

tourists

at the desert museum.

Upon arrival, there's no place to park.

Finally, the car comes to a stop!

Old women yammering

endlessly loud

tourists in lines as far as the eye can see.

after finally gaining some equillibrium,

I paused to take some pictures.

This upset Bags tremendously

and he yelled for me to keep up.

He said it reminded him of the time he took his

mother here and she got lost

for an hour.

He likened me to an old lady with Alzheimer's disease

because I stopped to take some pictures.

TOUGH COB

we tend to like those artists

who starved or went mad or killed themselves

and were discovered afterwards.

it happens often

because great talent is usually fifty to

one hundred years ahead of its

time.

most of those acclaimed in their

lifetime

are mediocre performers.

of course, this is common knowledge,

so common that many of those who are not

recognized in their time

believe that this is a sign of their own true

genius

and countless wives, children, relatives,

friends and bystanders

must suffer

because of this illusion.

to laugh truly is to continue anyhow.

MEXICAN LUNCH

we hadn't eaten lunch

so while sucking on our slurpees

I offered to go next door and buy some Mexican food

for me and his family.

I patiently waited for

everybody's order

One chicken taco (I got 2))

One order carnitas (I got 2)

and one order of fries (I got 1)

I paid for the food and

we brought it home to eat.

Brian started cryin'

cause he didn't get what he wanted

or he didn't feel loved

or was treated like an object

or some other such truck.

and Mike yelled at me

after I stepped away

because his dogs ate

the food off my plate.

FAUX PAS

at the track today

they were putting them into

the gate

and I hadn't gotten my bet down

yet.

the fellow ahead of me

seemed terribly slow in

making his

transaction.

he was fumbling awkwardly

so I hollered at

him.

"COME ON! COME ON! PICK

UP YOUR FUCKING

TICKETS!"

the people in the

other lines

looked at

us.

"COME ON! PICK 'EM UP,

BUDDY!"

then the fellow

turned.

he had

no

hands.

yes,

I got my bet

down.

and

my horse

ran

last.

JK

and Charles Bukowski, from The Continual Condition

Chicago

March 5, 2012