Notes of a Dirty Old Man | Becoming is Superior to Being

Arizona Gray Squirrel On Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne

“the squirs came to my house.”
“they did?”
“yes.”
“squirrels?”
“squirs!”
“were there many of them?”
“many of them.”
“what happened?”
“they talked to me.”
“they did?”
“yes, they talked to me.”
“what did they say?”
“they asked me if I wanted . . .”
“what did they say?”
“they asked me if I wanted a fix.”
“what? what did you say?”
“I said — ‘they asked me if I wanted a fix.’ “
“and what did you say?”
“I said, ‘no.’
“and what did the squirs say?”
“they said, ‘WELL, ALL RIGHT!’ “

— from notes of a dirty old man by Charles Bukowski

Photo-Artistry by kenne

Charles Bukowski: A Bio Poem

yes,
there was a
Charles Bukowski

sad eyes
weary voice
a poet-recluse

writing about
down and outs
skid row
alcohol
relationships with women

German American
raised catholic
abused
shy, alienated
teenage acne
desperate days of the
great depression

attended
Los Angeles City College
art,
journalism
literature
flirted with the far-right

grew bored
failed a physical and
psychological exam
classified 4-f

“on a Santa Monica Monday.”
first story
published at 24
grew disillusioned
quit writing
“on the sidewalk and in the sun”

ten-year drunk
bleeding ulcer
nearly died
begin writing poetry

first wife
small-town Texas poet
decapitated in India
religious zealots
obscure cult

traumatized by wife’s death
resulting in a powerful series of poems
“I hold fast to me, that’s all there is”

series of muses
a daughter
ten years with post office
wrote a column
“notes of a dirty old man”

quit the post office
decided to starve
full-time writer
a loner
unable to live alone
“because I’ve got
a pocket full of dreams….”

— kenne

Charles Bukowski in Ham On Rye writes of Henry Chinaski, his raw voice alter ego having a beer with Becker:

“. . . I’d like to be a correspondent in Washington, D.C. I’d like to be where big things are happening.”
“Washington’s crap, Becker.”
“And women? Marriage? Children?”
“Crap.”
“Yeah? Well, what do you want?”
“To hide.”
“You poor fuck. You need another beer.”
“All right.”
The beer arrived.