your cowardice will
not be
missed
and you were
dead
long
before
me.
~ bukowski
the relationship between writer and alcohol is a mysterious dynamic...but anyone driven by their own oftentimes hollow and isolating need to endlessly create (and drink while doing so) without pause or purpose some days - understands bukowski on a level that becomes rather private and personal.
for me anyway.
the writers before me who so eloquently had the ability to wrap up my insides in neat little drug store plastic bag prose and phrase had become the community i dwelled within, thus shutting the community of the living out and banishing them to the outskirts of my mind. this, quite frankly, was super fine as far as i was concerned.
but i couldn't be a good mother that way of course.
i had to shake the demons from their rusty cages and face the onslaught of the fools and fuckers in an effort to be the woman my daughter needed me to be.
it is an interesting process of evolving when you are faced with your own selfish destructiveness and given no choice but to abandon that which has kept you company for a lifetime.
but now - i see the product of that abandon and she is a treasure like no other.
it makes the longing for a day of cigarettes and wine filled pontification and indulgence fade away softly as my belly continues to morph and adjust itself to its new inhabitant.
i realize that my love (whom you all know as the prophetic and poetic coldenginelogic) and i, we are writers regardless, artists in spite of ourselves - and our ability to self-sabotage at any given moment sort of becomes an afterthought when we are creating something so spectacular as this upcoming masterpiece.
this is art undefined, unconstrained and untouched. this is beauty. this is success.
and i love bukowski you know.
i will again - one sunday afternoon - with cigarette in hand - poised in the air - as though it were the one waxing philosophical - laugh the artist's guttural growl as i reach for another sip of wine and spew forth witticisms of grandeur.
but of course then...you'll only know us as mom mom and pop pop and we'll be on the beach in new zealand. do stop by for a visit won't you?
not be
missed
and you were
dead
long
before
me.
~ bukowski
the relationship between writer and alcohol is a mysterious dynamic...but anyone driven by their own oftentimes hollow and isolating need to endlessly create (and drink while doing so) without pause or purpose some days - understands bukowski on a level that becomes rather private and personal.
for me anyway.
the writers before me who so eloquently had the ability to wrap up my insides in neat little drug store plastic bag prose and phrase had become the community i dwelled within, thus shutting the community of the living out and banishing them to the outskirts of my mind. this, quite frankly, was super fine as far as i was concerned.
but i couldn't be a good mother that way of course.
i had to shake the demons from their rusty cages and face the onslaught of the fools and fuckers in an effort to be the woman my daughter needed me to be.
it is an interesting process of evolving when you are faced with your own selfish destructiveness and given no choice but to abandon that which has kept you company for a lifetime.
but now - i see the product of that abandon and she is a treasure like no other.
it makes the longing for a day of cigarettes and wine filled pontification and indulgence fade away softly as my belly continues to morph and adjust itself to its new inhabitant.
i realize that my love (whom you all know as the prophetic and poetic coldenginelogic) and i, we are writers regardless, artists in spite of ourselves - and our ability to self-sabotage at any given moment sort of becomes an afterthought when we are creating something so spectacular as this upcoming masterpiece.
this is art undefined, unconstrained and untouched. this is beauty. this is success.
and i love bukowski you know.
i will again - one sunday afternoon - with cigarette in hand - poised in the air - as though it were the one waxing philosophical - laugh the artist's guttural growl as i reach for another sip of wine and spew forth witticisms of grandeur.
but of course then...you'll only know us as mom mom and pop pop and we'll be on the beach in new zealand. do stop by for a visit won't you?
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
you have been gone from aim, i miss you guys.
and how are you? Enquiring minds want to know...