“I guess I´m too used to sitting in a small room and making words do a few things.” ~ Charles Bukowski, from The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors have taken over the Ship

From “Let It Enfold You”

“EITHER PEACE OR HAPPINESS,
LET IT ENFOLD YOU” ~ CHARLES BUKOWSKI, FROM “LET IT ENFOLD YOU”

(Thought I had scheduled this the other day, but found it in my drafts folder. Sorry.)

Friday afternoon, cloudy, 83 degrees.

Happy Birthday Charles Bukowski (August 16, 1920-March 9, 1994). I thought that I’d post a video with the poet reading his own work, and then I found the second video, with a bit of conversation and very cool graphics, so I’m including that as well.

Enjoy.

More later. Peace.


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Thursday thoughts . . .

Image result for I dream too much, work too little. — Sylvia Plath


Today is the birthday of American poet Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884- January 29, 1933)

“Artists, poets, mystics, prophets, those who do not seem to fit into the world or the ways of society, are frequently lonely. They feel themselves to be different . . .” ~ Jean Vanier, from Becoming Human


Saturday afternoon, sunny, 81 degrees.

A quiet day around here. I’ll be handling everything while Corey is gone to Ohio for his dad’s big birthday celebration. That means all of the dogs, the goats, and the horses. Woo hoo. My life is full. Seriously, though, it’s really nice to have Napoleon back; this morning I went out to let the goats out of their pen, and I turned around and found Napoleon right behind me, waiting to be nuzzled. Sassy was there, of course, but she’s still too skittish to be nuzzled. Now I just need a saddle.

Oh well.

One good thing about binge-watching The Americans is that I keep being treated to great songs from the 80s, as well as a few that I’ve never heard or heard and completely forgotten. I posted one the other day by Yazoo, who was completely new to me.

I only have one season left, and then I’ll probably start on either Deadwood or Justified. Kind of sad, huh, that the only real news that I have at the moment is the next television show that I’m going to watch . . .

Anyway, thought I’d share a passage that I found from Canadian philosopher and humanitarian Jean Vanier (go here to learn more about him):

If we try to prevent, or ignore, the movement of life, we run the risk of falling into the inevitable depression that must accompany an impossible goal. Life evolves; change is constant. When we try to prevent the forward movement of life, we may succeed for a while but, inevitably, there is an explosion; the groundswell of life’s constant movement, constant change, is too great to resist.

. . . To live well is to observe in today’s apparent order the tiny anomalies that are the seeds of change, the harbingers of the order of tomorrow. This means living in a state of certain insecurity, in anguish and loneliness, which, at its best, can push us towards the new. Too much security and the refusal to evolve, to embrace change, leads to a kind of death. Too much insecurity, however, can also mean death. To be human is to create sufficient order so that we can move on into insecurity and seeming disorder. In this way, we discover the new. ~ Jean Vanier, from Becoming Human

More later. Peace.

Note: Roland the goat knocked my laptop off the table once again, and for hours I was unable to finish this post and publish.


Music by Avi Kaplan (love this guy’s voice), “Change on the Rise”

Wordless Wednesdays . . .

This is how our sky looked the other night.

 

“sometimes a man must fight so hard for life that he doesn’t have time to live it.” ~ Charles Bukowski, from “Flower Horse”


“I was returning to my musty court and madness but my kind of madness.” ~ Charles Bukowski, from “Would You Suggest Writing as a Career?”

Monday afternoon, rainy and much cooler, 72 degrees.

Book cover

It’s a Charles Bukowski kind of day; by that I mean that it’s ordinary, but depressing in its ordinariness. I’m of two minds about Bukowski: I like some of his poetry, but his short stories sometimes get on my nerves because they are so filled with misogyny. I was just perusing the 1983 collection Tales of Ordinary Madness (originally published by Lawrence Ferlinghetti in 1972). Bukowski had a seeming antipathy towards women that I have a hard time getting past. Yet at the same time, he wrote some lines that were real pearls. For example, take the closing line of one of his short stories, “A .45 to Pay the Rent”:

then the beautiful child was asleep and the moon was full.

It’s such a peaceful line, closing a story with such violent undertones.

The truth is, though, that Bukowski was a true curmudgeon: he just didn’t get along with most people, and he found ordinary life hard, taxing. So he drank and smoked and did drugs, none of which I really do; nevertheless, I sometimes feel a real affinity for the man, the writer, and the intense creative force that compelled him.

“‘Would you suggest writing as a career?’ one of the young students asked me.
‘Are you trying to be funny?’ I asked him.
‘No, no, I’m serious. Would you advise writing as a career?’
‘Writing chooses you, you don’t choose it.’” ~ Charles Bukowski, from “Would You Suggest Writing as a Career?”

I was reminded of the collection when I was prowling the ether looking for quotes that fit my mood for today. I may have over 100 draft posts filled with quotes and poems and songs, but none of them seemed to fit today’s mood. Then I found the quote for this section, which I have always loved, which led me to search for an online copy of the short stories. I found one here as a PDF, if you are so inclined. I actually found a site that has nothing but quotes from the collection. You can find it here if you’re interested.

Anyway, the drastic switch in temperatures and dropping barometric pressure has caused a combination sinus/migraine, which probably accounts for my weird mood. No real surprise there. Intense pressure and pain do not make for a pleasant afternoon under any circumstances, as I am sure you can agree.

One good thing on the horizon, though: Corey was able to borrow a small horse trailer that works with a standard hitch. We should be able to bring Napoleon home today or tomorrow, depending on weather. I am so relieved.

“I like to prowl ordinary places
and taste the people—
from a distance.” ~ Charles Bukowski, from”59 Cents a Pound”

This section quote comes from a poem contained in the book (epub here) Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit. I mean, how can you not love something with that title? It’s as if Bukowski was at times two different people. The crass woman-hater in the short stories, and the astute observer of humanity and life in the poems. I mean, he wrote poems about the souls of dead animals and dreaming of injured cats; there’s a remembered section from some poem, “It’s so easy to be a poet | and so hard to be | a man.”

Book cover

Truthfully, though I have never read a biography on him, so I probably should do so before attempting to analyze the man in any kind of cogent way.

There was actually a point here. The title of the collection reminds me so much of my friend Gail Kelly from the medical school. She came to me one afternoon so excited because she had found the Tom Waits’ song called “The Piano Has Been Drinking.” It was a classic Gail moment. She was a wild woman, and like so many of my friends, I lost touch with her, and that’s really a shame because we had a real connection.

But back to me and my headache.

It hurts. My eyes are throbbing and I’m typing without really focusing on the screen, not just because of the head but also because the pair of glasses that I use during the day is an old pair of prescription sunglasses, and I lost a nose piece the other day. I haven’t pursued getting a new pair of glasses because of the whole cataract thing. I’m hoping to have an eye exam in August, and perhaps then I can get a referral to an eye surgeon; although, I would really prefer to have the operation done in Norfolk, but who even knows if I can swing that.

Allow me to apologize. I know that this post has been all over the place. Like I said in the beginning: a Bukowski kind of day.

That’s about all for now. More later. Peace.

Music by Tom Waits, “The Piano has been Drinking,” what else? I picked one with the lyrics. For Gail.


59 cents a pound

I like to prowl ordinary places
and taste the people—
from a distance.
I don’t want them too near
because that’s when attrition
starts..
but in supermarkets
laundromats
cafes
street corners
bus stops
eating places
drug stores
I can look at their bodies
and their faces
and their clothing—
watch the way they walk
or stand
or what they are doing.
I’m like an x-ray machine
I like them like that:
on view.
I imagine the best things
about them.
I imagine them brave and crazy
I imagine them beautiful.

I like to prowl ordinary places.
I feel sorry for us all or glad for us
all
caught alive together
and awkward in that way.

there’s nothing better than the joke
of us
the seriousness of us
the dullness of us

buying stockings and carrots and gum
and magazines
buying birth control
candy
hair spray
and toilet paper.

we should build a great bonfire
we should congratulate ourselves on our
endurance

we stand in long lines
we walk about
we wait.

I like to prowl ordinary places
the people explain themselves to me
and I to them

a woman at 3:35 p.m.
weighing purple grapes on a scale
looking at that scale very
seriously
she is dressed in a simple green dress
with a pattern of white flowers
she takes the grapes
puts them carefully into a white paper
bag

that’s lightning enough

the generals and the doctors may kill us
but we have
won.

~ Charles Bukowski

“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.” ~ Werner Herzog

Dreamscapes: Pop-up art installation in Salt Lake City, Utah (sponsored by the Utah Arts Alliance)

“It was that sort of sleep in which you wake every hour and think to yourself that you have not been sleeping at all; you can remember dreams that are like reflections, daytime thinking slightly warped.” ~ Kim Stanley Robinson, from Icehenge

Monday afternoon, partly cloudy and slightly cooler, 83 degrees.

Last night’s dream:

Lots of numbers and colors. Five people on a team, myself, the leader, and three other men. The three men married, one for 36 years. A woman with a scar down the back of her head. Five jewels: emerald, diamond, ruby, garnet and topaz. Three witches. One feather. Wind blowing in two different directions, one side red, one side green. Three SUVs, one police car. Three bicycles. A mall, meeting four other women at 7:30. Makeup from three stores. A purple file folder on sale for $4.07.  Half a xanax and $100 someone owed me. Fried green beans, a deli pickle served on a bed of sprouts. Five pans of food on a circular stove. One glass of bourbon. A spiral staircase. Eamonn as a toddler reaching for the five pans of food.

Woke up to the sound of barking. Exhausted.

Corey dreams I was married to a man named Andrew . . .


Music by Dustin Kensrue, “This Good Night is Still Everywhere”

Update: A brief explanation of how I’ve spent the last few days . . .

Sunday afternoon, sunny, 87 degrees.

I have had to spend way too much time trying to fix my main drafts post in which I collect quotes and poems until I have an appropriate post in which to place them. For some reason, my WordPress switched to Block Editor, which I have no fricking idea how to use easily or effectively.

So once again I tried a forum fix to revert to old fashioned Classic Editor, but of course, it did not work, at least not exactly as explained. When I opened this main draft, all of the formatting between quotes and line breaks was gone, and if you know anything about poetry, including the proper line breaks is kind of important. I don’t even want to talk about how long fixing all of this actually took.

Yesterday, I gave up in the middle because with the script problem, moving things around was taking way too long I decided that today I would fix the damned thing no matter how much pain and anguish it caused me………..

So here I am. Finally.

I really, really hate how thing have been going in just about every compartment of my life.  And my horse still isn’t home. Sucks to be me.


Music by Arctic Monkeys, “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards” (Tame Impala cover)—I know that it’s a rare repeat. Don’t care. Sue me.