I first learned of Bukowski via the Showtime series, Californication when the main character, Hank Moody, would sometimes reference the hard-living, California-based poet/author. I later learned Moody was based in part, on Bukowski himself, a sort of arms-length ode to a great talent who remains unknown to so many, yet loved by some.
That devoted anonymity would have pleased Bukowski nearly as much as a nearly-full bottle of properly aged Scotch.
No person has expressed so well what it is to write, to create, to strive, to struggle, to fail, to rise, to fall, than Charles Bukowski.
Here is Bukowski’s ode to those who fall prey to the lure of the written word, that confounding aspirational mess that has left many far greater and more talented than I, a mental shell of their former selves upon completion of that journey, for with each life created upon the page, it seems a little less of the author is left.
I recall reading some years ago how writing is a form of prolonged suicide.
I didn’t get it then.
I do now.
D.W. Ulsterman is a bestselling, award-winning author and socio-political commentator.
All of his novels are available for purchase in e-book and paperback: HERE
You can also follow him on Facebook: HERE
And sign up for his free newsletter: HERE