Charles Bukowski - The Last Night of the Earth Poems

that Harbor Freeway south through the downtown areaI mean, it can simply become unbelievable . last Friday evening I was sitting there motionless behind a wall of red taillights, there wasnt even first gear movement as masses of exhaust fumes greyed the evening air, engines overheated and there was the smell of a clutch burning out somewhere it seemed to come from ahead of me from that long slow rise of freeway where the cars were working from first gear to neutral again and again and from neutral back to first gear. on the radio I heard the news of that day at least 6 times, I was well versed in world affairs. the remainder of the stations played a thin, sick music. the classical stations refused to come in clearly and when they did it was a stale repetition of standard and tiresome works. a strange whirling began in my headit circled behind the forehead, clockwise, went past the ears and around to the back of the head, then back to the forehead and around again. a strange whirling began in my headit circled behind the forehead, clockwise, went past the ears and around to the back of the head, then back to the forehead and around again.

I began to wonder, is this what happens when one goes mad? I considered getting out of my car. I was in the so-called fast lane. I could see myself out there out of my car leaning against the freeway divider, arms folded. then I would slide down to a sitting position, putting my head between my legs. I stayed in the car, bit my tongue, turned the radio back on, willed the whirling to stop as I wondered if any of the others had to battled against their compulsions as I did? then the car ahead of me MOVED a foot, 2 feet, 3 feet! I shifted to first gear there was MOVEMENT! then I was back in neutral BUT we had moved from 7 to ten feet.

at L.A.

at L.A.

City College there were two toughs, me and Jed Anderson. Anderson was one of the best running backs in the history of the school, a real breakaway threat anytime he got the football. I was pretty tough physically but looked at sports as a game for freaks. I thought a bigger game was challenging those who attempted to teach us. anyhow, Jed and I were the two biggest lights on campus, he piled up his 60, 70 and 80 yard runs in the night games and during the days slouched in my seat I made up what I didnt know and what I did know was so bad many a teacher was made to dance to it. it was at a little jukebox place across from campus and he was sitting with his pals and I was sitting with mine. go on! go on! talk to him! my pals urged. go on! go on! talk to him! my pals urged.

I said, fuck that gym boy. I am one with Nietzsche, let him come over here! finally Jed got up to get a pack of smokes from the machine and one of my friends asked, are you afraid of that man? I got up and walked behind Jed as he was reaching into the machine for his pack. hello, Jed, I said. he turned: hello, Hank. then he reached into his rear pocket, pulled out a pint of whiskey, handed it to me. I took a mighty hit, handed it back.

Jed, what are you going to do after L.A.C.C.? Im going to play for Notre Dame. then he walked back to his table and I walked back to mine. whatd he say? whatd he say? nothing much. anyhow, Jed never made it to Notre Dame and I never made it anywhere either the years just swept us away but there were others who went on, including one fellow who became a famous sports columnist and I had to look at his photo for decades in the newspaper as I inherited those cheap rooms and those roaches and those airless dreary nights. but I was still proud of that moment back then when Jed handed me that pint and I drained a third of it with all the disciples watching. and it took me 3 or 4 decades to move on just a little. and Jed, if you are still here tonight, (I forgot to tell you then) heres a thanks for that drink.

tonight drinking Singha malt liquor from Thailand and listening to Wagner I cant believe that he is not in the other room or around the corner or alive someplace tonight and he is of course as I am taken by the sound of him and little goosebumps run along both of my arms then a chill hes here now.

when Wagner was an old man a birthday party was given in his honor and a couple of youthful incidental compositions were played. afterwards he asked, who wrote those? you did, he was told. ah, he responded, its as I have always suspected: death then does have some virtue.

will bring you people with its ring, people who do not know what to do with their time and they will ache to infect you with this from a distance (although they would prefer to actually be in the same room to better project their nullity upon you). the telephone is needed for emergency purposes only. these people are not emergencies, they are calamities. these people are not emergencies, they are calamities.

I have never welcomed the ring of a telephone. hello, I will answer guardedly. this is Dwight. already you can feel their imbecile yearning to invade. they are the people-fleas that crawl the psyche. the telephone is only for emergency purposes. it has taken me decades but I have finally found out how to say no. now dont be concerned for them, please: they will simply dial another number. it could be yours. hello, you will say. and they will say, this is Dwight. and then you be the kind understanding soul.

like most of you, Ive had so many jobs that I feel as if I were gutted and my insides thrown to the winds.

like most of you, Ive had so many jobs that I feel as if I were gutted and my insides thrown to the winds.

Ive met some good people along the way and also the other kind. yet when I think of all those I have worked with even though decades have passed Karl comes to mind first. I remember Karl: our jobs required we both wear aprons tied from behind and around the neck with string. I was Karls underling. we got an easy job, he told me. each day as one by one our superiors arrived Karl would make a slight bend at the waist, smile, and with a nod of the head greet each: good morning Dr.

Stein, or, good morning Mr. Day or Mrs. Knight or if the lady was unattached good morning, Lilly or Betty or Fran. I never spoke. Karl seemed concerned at this and one day he took me aside: hey, where the fuck else you going to get a two hour lunch like we do? nowhere, I guess well, o.k., look, for guys like you and me, this is as good as it can get, this is all there is. so look, its hard to suck up to them at first, it didnt come easy for me but after a while I realized that it didnt matter. so look, its hard to suck up to them at first, it didnt come easy for me but after a while I realized that it didnt matter.

I just grew a shell. now Ive got my shell, got it? I looked at him and sure enough he did look like he had a shell, there was a mask-like look to his face and the eyes were null, void and undisturbed; I was looking at a weathered and beaten conch. some weeks went by. nothing changed: Karl bowed and scraped and smiled undaunted, perfect in his role. that we were perishable, perhaps didnt occur to him or that greater gods might be watching. then, one day, Karl took me aside again. listen, Dr. listen, Dr.

Morely spoke to me about you. yes? he asked me what was wrong with you. what did you tell him? I told him that you were young. thanks. upon receiving my next check, I quit but still had to eventually settle for another similar job and viewing the new Karls I finally forgave them all but not myself: being perishable sometimes makes a man strange almost unemployable most obnoxious no servant of free enterprise.