My Words, My World

First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing

Archive for the tag “Charles Bukowski”

Bukowski: the morning after the night before

I got up. I couldn’t sleep, I just lay there sweating, tossing and flapping like a freshly-caught fish. Booze does that to you. You think it’ll knock you out; that you’ll sleep like a kitten for the night but then you awake on a sweat-wet pillow, and then it’s finished.

I lay in bed an hour or so, unable to shut my head up. The room was dark but in my head someone had flipped a switch. Transitory thoughts, each following the other down the fuddled highway of my mind, flickered on and off, on and off. What I had to do today. What I had to to this week. What? Whatever.

I got up, grabbed my book, made a coffee and made myself comfortable on the cold leather sofa, and lost myself in story.

I had a heavy chest and a cough that wouldn’t come, my airways blocked by too many cigarettes accompanying too many drinks throughout a drunken evening with drunker friends and a happy barman. My mouth was layered from beer, from wine, from gin, from the back shelf where no one sober goes.

The coffee steamed on the coffee-table (what if I drunk tea?) but I drank it, hoping to change the thick, stale, toothpaste-on-alcohol taste in my mouth. My throat burned but something moved. My chest moved. I coughed: it sounded like Tom Waits singing. That was an improvement.

Early morning coffee with Bukowski. I finished the first short story and stared at the page a while before closing the book and closing my eyes.

The Most Beautiful Woman in Town had just died.

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Hand in hand

Hand in hand: like pen and paper.  Oil and gasoline.  Plant and Page.  Ying and Yang.
69. Yes, like 69.
Hand in hand: like Bukowski and a drink.  Hemingway and a fight.  King and the silver spine shiver that makes you turn and check the darkened window for a face you don’t want to see there; especially on the 14th floor.  Definitely not the 14th floor.
There’s more.
I could carry on.
Hand in hand: like governments and dishonesty.  Money and corruption.  Lies and more lies.  Lies breed lies. They lay us down and suck us up.  We believe.
To the noose, to the chair, to Medusa’s lair we go, hand in hand.

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