charles bukowski and the month of august.
and, that was august. a half-witted attempt at channeling the drunk genius of charles bukowski. it worked at times, mostly when the vodka stayed down and the people who usually stare for so long didn’t seem to judge anymore. but, nothing really matters when you don’t know what day it is. the words stuck, the sex was good and the treachery fell away.
bukowski wrote a couple of lines once, that ‘there isn’t a piece of ass in this world over $50 (in 1977)’. he was so under the table when he wrote that. it doesn’t even matter. ‘if you have the ability to love, love yourself first’. those lines, written everywhere in my life. the beers were consumed until the house was dry. and all this, for the condemnation, and for the contempt. the rails were invisible.
but, love is like a revolution. you choose a destiny, the violence escalates, people are won, and people are lost. you do it because you’re fighting for an idea. you do it because you’re fighting to win someone’s heart. you fight, to keep it alive. and either by the gun, the bottle, your word or your love, we’re all revolutionaries. just hit it hard.