Charles Bukowski, Living On Luck: Selected Letters 1960s-1970s, Volume 2
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Living on Luck is a collection of letters from the 1960s mixed in with poems and drawings. The ever clever Charles Bukowski fills the pages with his rough exterior and juicy center.
into your hands for these 2 books. No other poet of this century or any other has been so blessed. Blair speaks of the envy of the others. Let them god damn envy! Those Black Mountain School snobs, let them smell their own turds! The Kenyon boys, let them write their celluloid senseless inoffensive poems; the Corringtons—let them write their novels of incest and beetle love and honor and refuse to answer their mail; and all the others: let them go to hell too. I am for the small man who has not
people came by with guitars and threw all the wine bottles, beer bottles, whiskey bottles in the trash, dumped the garbage. They made me laugh, they made me get off that stinking gloom bed. And I went out into the rain with them. Nothing to eat for 3 or 4 days—my stomach raw. And I ended up drunk again… Now I seem to have pulled together (I hope), and it seems to be going easier as each day goes by. I suppose it was a transition from the 12 year thing, and when you look at it, maybe ten days
it’s quite like that good fuck you (or I) had 3 months ago. who cares? it’s tonight’s or tomorrow’s or the last one that counts. it’s NOW. NOW IS THE ONLY LIVING BREATHING REALITY. when somebody tells me, “Bukowski, I really liked that poem ‘The Priest and the Matador,’” I say, “yeh.” who cares? I’d just as soon piss on it. that’s why at poetry readings I read only the stuff—with one or two exceptions—that I’ve written in the last month or two. everything else leaves me dead and I read it dead.
ass drag from giving shitty poetry readings [***] and also a battle with the tigress for acting like a silly vamp. she doesn’t fuck the boys but she just about tickles their balls in front of me. very highschoolgirl stuff, and I’m supposed to react to that by tickling some other gal’s cunt. cheap vengeance, you know. fuck, Carl, I been around too long to play children’s games. however, at this time, the tigress and I are still mating. for whatever it means. [***] well, I don’t know how poetry
a little shot, she says. little? there went half a bottle… Love Story. yes, I saw it on tv. I never laughed so much in my life. what a ridiculous hunk of pretentious phoney shit but looking at it as pure comedy it was magnificent, if you know what I mean. I guessed each scene before it arrived. you know, the world is really a long long way from solving ANYTHING when they gulp in this kind of tripe and admire it. no chance, friend. we might as well give up. just saw off a corner of the action, a