bukowski didnt much care for mailer when mailer was
IT and he himself was NOT,


said the man had no internal editor; just hammered away words, any words,
beating HELL into the WORD;

T wolfe is the worst, really; he needs a 3 day drunk

but instead
airport reading;

20 minutes in a brown, creased concourse seat and 22 pages on some

ugly, pinched girl in atlanta, howling “nigger”
at the window
at migratory birds
at flags, nunneries, bolo ties, elevators, magicians

electrical outlets, magazine drop-cards



twelve pages on the Divan in the parlor


fifteen on dry bourbon and long stretches of concrete ramparts that smell like monkey shit

bromidic racial politics;

paeans to the dead modern trope.

he’s waiting to die, stone prick in hand, pen in the other, pouring

molasses on ART.

02/12/2003

Posted on 05/13/2011
Copyright © 2024 Ryan Narce