Bukowski no. 21

Not so long ago, my brother’s truck had a handful of fluid leaks, sometimes it wouldn’t start up, and one of the speakers wouldn’t work unless you punched the dashboard pretty hard and even then you’d only get stereo sound for a few minutes before it cut out again.

One day I asked him why he did not take the truck to a mechanic, and he replied 

“What good would that do? I’d pay someone to tell me that a long list of things were wrong, and that they could fix it if I had more money than I have.”
I laughed and mentioned that I had used the same rationale to avoid doctors, dentists, and therapists for the last five years.

Though I am not qualified to make this judgement, I think one of my wisdom teeth is dying. It does not feel the way that it once did and when I look (carefully in mirrors while pulling my cheek out of the way) it appears quite different from every other tooth in my skull. I suppose I will ignore the goddamn thing until the pain becomes unbearable—then I’ll pull it out with a pair of needlenose pliers.

A History of Madness 6

The present controls the accuracy of memory

more than the past ever could.

Often, in some shitty sports bar or cup of coffee

I have tried to summon the ghosts that kiss me to sleep at night.

Who knows what lies I have whispered to those shadows and plumes of steam?

I find that I feel guilty for any injustice that could be imagined,

even if it existed in fiction. The mere names of countries can fill me with dread,

knowing that at any moment my brain will begin a demonic litany:

Years, numbers of the slain, names of villages that are no longer villages.

And why should I bear the hate of mankind

upon my shoulders as if they were broad enough to hold it all?

I do not mean to suggest that I identify with the victims or their families.

I do not believe that I am capable of any such emotions,

but many times I have worn the bloody boots of monsters as I drift through sleep.

When I created the world I never meant for any of this to happen.

A History of Madness 5

A History of Madness 5 is spurious.

A History of Madness 4

I could hear the wine pouring through the phone into her glass
and she said

“I want a baby. Did you know babies can learn in the womb?
Isn’t that beautiful? They would learn so much from me
and if it didn’t turn out well
I could just give it up for adoption.”

And I laughed in the terrible way that I know and later
she said “I don’t even think you can be sweet to a woman,”
and I said “I can be,”
and she asked me how, so I told her
that I am half-decent at giving massages
and don’t mind giving my money away
and that I know how to brush hair and make breakfast and get water
and hold someone when their cramps start up
and I told her I wasn’t really such a bad guy as I pretended to be
and then I started crying or maybe I was crying all along.

Later she explained to me that she did not want to date me or fuck me
and all I could think to say was “Man, I never asked you.”

A History of Madness 3

Her hair was black and her lips were red
and she drank a different beer than I was drinking.

We were at the Mexican restaurant close to my apartment
where Happy Hour started at about one in the afternoon,
and at the table she sat across from me and I looked at her
and she was beautiful
and her boyfriend was there too and he was loudly talking
about something but I was not listening
because I had a tall beer the color of amber, without an orange,
and I could pay for it.

After a little while I had to take a piss so I wordlessly stood
and walked toward the bathroom. 

Before you walked right or left for a door they had these miniature saloon doors,
slatted like window shutters, and I opened them and heard footsteps
so I stood to the side
and then her tongue was in my mouth and she was pushing me against the wall
and before I knew it I could breathe.

I said “Are you trying to get me killed?” and she kissed me again
and my desire was careless so I lifted her off the ground
and her arms were around my neck and she was a flood I could not stop
and I tasted the light beer she was drinking and her lips were red
and then there was a sound

so I put her down and quickly went into the bathroom and locked the door
and said “Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ”
although I never believed in Him
and took a piss and washed my hands and by the time I got to the table
she was sitting there by her boyfriend
so I looked over at Mariano and raised my finger so he would know
that I needed another beer.

A History of Madness 2

The hickory nut fell down as green as the wind isn’t,
taking four dried leaves and another nut (entirely closed) down to closely cut grass.

The leaves fluttered slowly in the air
as if they were dancing
and knew they would never dance again.

The two fallen seeds began a conversation.
The younger was livid and screaming “My mother loves me and you took me from her!”
The other smiled where his skin was beginning to split and said
“My brother, she was always going to drop you.
Perhaps you are too young to fall. Maybe you will rot here on the ground,
Maybe the monsters with long teeth and thick tails will spirit you away
and bury you in a secret place, only to eat you when the world is cold.

But this is how we become a tree someday and many of us die,
and maybe it will be you because I made you fall too early
and for that I am sorry
although you would probably have died anyway.”

The younger thought about this for a moment and suddenly a wizened old man
raked them both up and the four leaves too and put them all on the burnpile.

A History of Madness 1

No one else in the world was breathing and there was no light

and only the sound of a second-hand window air conditioner

or the clang of a furnace turning on or off.

Depersonalization is one of the benefits of solitude as you approach sleep.

Only in the darkness can you forget who you are

and pretend that you will not wake the next day to the tedium of life.

almost you disappear but there is still something left,

the taste of a cigarette

the sound a hat did not make as it fell to the ground

skipping a day like a rock on a lake in the rain

but you will always wake up

and you will never be free