bukowski

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Others Sayin’…Thoughts For Today

So, I make art based on the idea that death is a part of nature and can be beautiful too. Nothing I like more than seeing nature take over a dead/abandoned thing. Not your usual post but, I thought this group might appreciate it. Enjoy!
How Does Your Garden Grow- Coz 2017
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“I wish to weep
but sorrow is
stupid.
I wish to believe
but belief is a
graveyard.”

― Charles Bukowski

Poetic Outlaws · 3 hrs · “I wish to weep but sorrow is stupid. I wish to believe but belief is a graveyard.” ― Charles Bukowski
Above Both posted on Facebook
So for myself, on this fine day of sunshine and outside noises, I’m off to the store for the necessaries of shelter-at-home: Wine and Cheese and Chocolate. Well OK, maybe a small bottle of Vodka. Speaking of, I’ve heard that liquor sales in Ohio are at a 203% increase for the year so far. How’s that for saying something?
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When Blue

In my heart there is a blue bird that 
He wants to go

Marc Chagall, the oiseau Bleu (Partial) 1952, private collection Post by Federica De Santi

Marc Chagall, the oiseau Bleu (Partial) 1952, private collection
Post by Federica De Santi

But with him I’m inflexible,
I tell him: stay inside, I don’t
Nobody sees you.

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
But the verse whiskey and inhale
The smoke of cigarettes
And the whores and bartenders
And the grocer’s clerks
They don’t know that there is him.

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
But I am inflexible with him,
I tell him: stay down, you want to
Freaking out?
Do you want to air all my work?
Do you want to blow my books sales in Europe?

In my heart there is a blue bird that
He wants to
Only at night sometime
When everyone sleeps.
I tell him: I know you’re there,
Don’t be sad
Then I put it back in place

But he in there a little sings,
I didn’t really make him die,
We sleep together like
With our secret pact
And she’s so cute to cry
A man, but I don’t cry,
And you?

~Charles Bukowski

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The Ordinary of the Days

OK So yesterday was the day from semi-hell. Rather like a mini-armageddon, or an armageddonette. Between the dryer and the dishwasher and the people visiting to make things whole and the inability for anyone to understand anything, it was exhausting. No one could produce the tools or parts necessary to do their jobs. And there was a bird nest in the dryer vent. (I don’t know why I mention that. It seemed important at the time.) Oh yes, it was only discovered after many unsuccessful attempts to get the hot air flow to actually flow. Need I mention that the washing machine hose was somehow disconnected during the jostling of the dryer? And yes, it was draining at the time so there was water in the hose. A lot of water that continued to gush. It was the giant equivalent of the spilled cup of water that lands on the floor and becomes a gallon when it lands. I can’t bring myself to talk about the dishwasher. I became as nonfunctional as all the other people and appliances. The quotidian routine was unable to juggle the grenade of destruction.

There was only one possible solution. Yes, margaritas were in order.

So today I function with a hangover and, however, functioning appliances and no people. I rejoice in welcoming the ordinary.

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