'Who is this Charles Bukowski guy?' That's what I asked her. And two weeks later I received a book of poems. Now I'll never go back. He is so good. Look what he's done to me in a night and a half. I'm sitting at the kitchen table in a stunned state of illumination, by the glow of the tv with the volume turned down. A little tipsy from an empty glass, I'm flipping through a book by Nietszche that I haven't picked up in three years but that suddenly seems so relevant. Maybe, just maybe, I'm seeing the beauty of it all. Beyond good and evil. I've been reading Bukowski's work like it was about to go rancid. My favorite so far is about a guy named Karl that Bukowski used to work with. The thing about Karl was, he didn't understand that we are perishable. Karl thought that we could do whatever we wanted and that cause and effect was something reserved for billiard balls.

Karl thought we were Gods. But Bukowski knew better.
We are so perishable.
I maybe know a lot of Karls, which I guess is why that one is my favorite. And sometimes I know I am a Karl, which is maybe why it scares me so much.
I have to watch that.
But enough about Karl and enough about Nietzsche. This is about Charles Bukowski, who last night I read for the very first time. And now I probably won't stop till they put me down. He's that good.
- posted by Sigurd2/20/2005 09:19:00 PM