Modern Love?

"Be modern. Its the modern age. People swing. Theyre uninhibited. They fuck from the ceiling. They screw dogs, babies, chickens, fish..."
"I like to choose,i have to care"
"Thats so damn corny. The caring is already built-in. Then if you cultivate that caring long enough the next thing you know you think its love."
"OK,whats wrong with love,tony?"
"Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But youll never meet them"
"alright,so we do the best we can"
"Granted. But we must still realize that love is just the result of a chance encounter. Most people make too much of it. On these grounds a good fuck is not to be entirely scorned"
"but thats the result of a chance meeting too"
"Youre god damned right. drink up. we'll have another"
"youve got a good line tony,but its not going to work"
Well,said tony,nodding the bartender over,"im not going to grieve about that either"

Women.

"A man didnt have to have a women in order to feel as real as he could feel, but it was good if he knew a few. Then when the affair went wrong he'd feel what it was like to be truely lonely and crazed, and thus know what he must face, finally, when his own end came.

I was sentimental about many things: a womens shoes under the bed; one hairpin left behind on the dresser; the way they said, "im going to pee..."; hair ribbons; walking down the boulevard with them at 1:30 in the afternoon, just two people walking together; the long nights of drinking and smoking, talking; the arguements; thinking of suicide; eating together and feeling good; the jokes; the laughter out of nowhere; feeling miracles in the air; being in a parked car together; comparing past loves at 3am; being told you snore; hearing her snore; mothers, daughters, sons, cats, dogs; sometimes death and sometimes divorce, but always carrying on, always seeing it through; reading a newspaper alone in a sandwich joint and feeling nausea because shes now married to a dentist with an I.Q. of 95; racetracks, parks, park picinics; even jails; her dull friends, your dull friends; your drinking, her dancing; your flirting, her flirting; her pills, your fucking on the side, and her doing the same; sleeping together....

there were no judgements to be made, yet out of necessity one had to select. Beyond good and evil was all right in theory, but to go on living one had to select: some were kinder than others, some were simply more interested in you, and sometimes the outwardly beautiful and inwardly cold were necessary, just for bloody shitty kicks, like a bloody, shitty movie. The kinder ones fucked better, really, and after you were around them a while they seemed beautiful because they were. I thought of Sara, she had that something extra. if only there was no Drayer Baba holding up that damned STOP sign."

Solitude.

"I was a man who thrived on solitude; without it
I was like another man without food or water.
Each day without solitude weakened me.
I took not pride in my solitude; but I was dependent on it.
The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me."

The Blackbirds Are Rough Today

"Lonely as a dry and used orchard spread over the earth for use and surrender.

Shot down like an ex-pug selling dailies on the corner.

Taken by tears like an aging chorus girl whos gotten her last check.

A hanky is in order your lord, your worship.

The blackbirds are rough today like ingrown toenails in an overnight jail--wine wine whine, the blackbirds run around and fly around harping about Spainish melodies and bones.

And everywhere is nowhere--the dream is as bad as flapjacks and flat tires:

why do we go on with our minds and pockets full of dust like a bad boy just out of school, you tell me, you who were a hero in some revolution. You who teach children. You who drink with calmness. You who own large homes and walk in gardens. You who have killed a man and own a beautiful wife. You tell me.

Why am I on fire like old dry garbage.

We might surely have some interesting correspondence. It will keep the mailman busy.

And the butterflies and ants and bridges and cemeteries, the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics will still go on a while until we run out of stamps and/0r ideas.

Dont be ashamed of anything; I guess God meant it all like locks on doors."

Someday My Dance Will Begin...

Ive been neglecting my books. I havent read anything in a really long time. Ive had some things on the mind lately. To no surprise, these things are not good. So I opened something up and read a few pages. Ive been on "Run With The Hunted" for a while now. Poems, short stories, from Charles Bukowskis' other novels. This caught my eye really hard. So im posting it.

"I would never forgive the girls for getting into those cream-colored coupes with the laughing boys. They couldnt help it, of course, yet you always think, maybe...but no, there werent any maybes. Wealth meant victory and victory was the only reality. What woman chooses to live with a dishwasher?

Throughout high school I tried not to think too much about how things might eventually turn out for me. It seemed better to delay thinking...

Finally  it was the day of the Senior Prom. It was held in the girls' gym with live music, a real band. I dont know why but I walked over that night, the two-and-one-half miles from my parents' place. I stood outside in the dark and I looked in there, through the wired-covered window, and I was astonished. All the girls looked very grown-up, stately, lovely, they were in long dresses, and they all looked beautiful. I almost didnt recognize them. And the boys in their tuxes, they looked great, they danced so straight, each of them holding a girl in his arms, their faces pressed against the girls' hair. They all danced beautifully and the music was loud and clear and good, powerful. 

Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection staring in at them--boils and scars on my face, my ragged shirt. I was like some jungle animal drawn to the light looking in. Why had I come? I felt sick. But I kept watching. The dance ended. There was a pause. Couples spoke easily to each other. It was natural and civilized. Where had they learned to converse and dance? I couldnt converse or dance. Everybody knew something I didnt know. The girls looked so good, the boys so handsome. I would be too terrified to even look at one of those girls, let alone be close to one. To look into her eyes or dance with her would be beyond me. 

And yet I knew that what I saw wasnt as simple and good as it appeared. There was a price to be paid for all of it, a general falsity, that could be easily believed, and could be the first step down a dead-end street. The band began to play agian and the boys and the girls began to dance again and the lights revolved overhead throwing shades of gold, then red, then blue, then green, then gold again on the couples. As I watched them I said to myself, someday my dance will begin. When that day comes I will have something that they dont have. 

But then it got to be too much for me. I hated them. I hated their beauty, their untroubled youth, and as I watched them dance through the magic colored pools of light, holding each other, feeling so good, little unscathed children, temporarily in luck, I hated them because they had something I had not yet had, and I said to myself, I said to myself again, someday I will be as happy as any of you, you will see."

ART!

This came in the mail the other day. Its a Charles Bukowski print that Matt Brotka made. I'm totally in love with it! Bukowski is a dude ive been WAY into since being introduced to him about 8 months ago from my sister. So when I saw that Matt had made up some prints, I obviously picked one up! The only problem I have now is finding a place to put it! I dont know of any place right now, Bummed!

If youd like one for yourself,go to Matts page and grab one! They are limited!

www.timewillheal.com