462-0614

I get many phonecalls now.
They are all alike.
“are you Charles Bukowski,
the writer?”
“yes,” I tell them.
and they tell me that they understand my writing.
and some of them are writers
or want to be writers.
and they have dull and
horrible jobs
and they can’t face the room
the apartment
the walls
that night–
they want somebody to talk to,
and they don’t believe
that I can’t help them.
I don’t know the words.
they don’t belive
that often now
I double up in my room
grab my gut
and say
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
not again!”
they can’t believe
that the loveless people
the streets
the loneliness
the walls
are mine too.
and when I hang up my phone
they believe I have held back my
secret.

I don’t write out of
knowledge.
when the phone rings
I too would like to hear words
that might ease some of this.

That’s why my number’s listed.

–ciao, baby!

Props to Dante

Healthy
Honesty is a woman without any makeup on.
Lies are seeing her lips covered in succulent red lipstick.
Do not believe anyone who fears dishonesty.
They have all been lied to and know they cannot survive without them.
Mankind stands naked on an elevated stage.
The houselights are all on and there is no backlight to hide the paunch growing under our navals or our small cock overwhelmed by a huge scrotum.
The self concious are saved by the fog machines constantly blowing smoke up our asses.
Once again we are
Happy.
Healthy.
and Loved.

–ciao, baby!

Sydste kys

Eeep! That was seriously twisted.

Bukowski’s bluebird

– Post From My iPhone

I hate summer

I was attacked by bees today.
Twice! Little bastards.
I hate summer.
– Post From My iPhone