Beerspit Night and Cursing (42 page)

Yes—the Dogs do steal—for they are imitators—they ape—monkey see monkey do—from The Chinese:

“The superior man is in
HARMONY
with the Process the inferior man imitates” competes by imitation—

They stole from
E.P
. & they steal from me—do not be surprised that they will also steal from you—that’s also part of The Process—It’s a world of
ME FIRST
…or
ME TOO
…They want/need that drink of life water—the first to say or do (It starts to pall near 40) don’t care doll—don’t care—laugh that last laugh that knows you snuck life into their shut skulls—

I once saw an exhibit of the italian master of fantasy:
Di Chirico
—a most clever eye had hung the show—it was Di Chirico & some of his more famous or locally well known & more successful competitors / they had all stolen from Di Chirico—Each one had stolen something—and Clever Eye had hung The Imitators on each side of the wall with the original Di Chirico in the center of the room & one’s eye spun down each opposite wall & they stealers’ colours/lines/forms etc led straight to the glowing Di Chirico! [
a drawing of the exhibit follows
] His seed shown bright & you could see it had spread into their minds!! They uptown artists with galleries were at that time stealing from the poor wandering painter—alone—and that exhibit made me laugh—

Imitation makes the Original more bright—& Time proves life right—But I don’t blame you for being drug when others steal what you were first on earth to
SEE
—

“The human soul is not love but love proceeds from it; therefore it does not take delight in itself but only in the love that flows through it” or words to /

The Muse is your Goddess & you are their God—cosi sia (so be it) Buk / And you so right—about the tired housewives in yr terrifying small poem!!!

Sir Walter Releigh (orHowHellSpell) said “when others talk or do things behind my back, I figure my tail is a good enough
answer for them”—If they prefer the ass to the face—that’s on them!

And as for painting—with me I cannot paint it unless I
SEE
it—it must be already there before this painting monkey can do it—also I find that I do more when there is that one to move to delight with the work / it is difficult to paint as a prayer—
“to work is to pray”
—and I find her typing / but she has a few more things to give us—right now I am seeing into my ego self and I am plumb dumbfounded/flaberghasted/aghast etc…every thing I really hate in others I am seeing in that monster who got me through Time to Here & Now—she has
GOT
to go man—For the simple reason that I want
NO
more of me around me!! Self does meet self as Edger Cayce said (but the Cayce Foundation & the Cayce—ites (the pus sacs) are not Edger Cayce any more than the xtians are
J.C
.) He said “Self meets self.”—and this cell(f) is going to go “out th’ smoke hole”…Try to make the Atone—ment scene—It is the only Life—But first to
FIND
the true One who is the real One of all the us of us—

Yr chicago typewriter blasts & roars O King Leo—yr growls & royal yawls are driving you to your true One—
H.D
. brings this one more out of all the shes within—and sometimes you can turn to yr inner pack & tell the inner dogs: “
BE
still & know that
I
am God”—only make sure (first if you can) that the God of you is not your own personal Devil—What I have taken as my “god’—I know see with true sadness—it was my devil form—If you want a true portrait of self—get a dog & let it live with you & then condemn it with a word “you nervous bastard” etc—dogs reflect the personality of the ‘mawster’. to a former letter:

Buk/ there’s
NO
thing wrong with accepting payment for yr work or books called ‘royalties’—ask for them & accept them—your life must go on /

am reading Swedenborg now—going on into afternoon—2:04 exact/ “willing is loving to
DO
”—

Fate Magazine
May 1966 issue: adv/
SUBSCRIBE TO THE LITERARY TIMES
has in its write up these:
THE NEW IMPORTANT WORK
of Charles Bukowski & others of course/ amazing to see your name in
Fate Mz
!!!!! on p/19 find one & have
a peek @ page.
Fate
often has
NEWS
the blatts do not print/ along w/a lot of ‘mist-stick’ sticks/

17 magazines at once??!!!! It is wonderful to be occupatissima—that is what kills most of those who believe they can court boredom & not die of it/

stay—stay in the mind state of work—maybe I shd stop & let you work / from here: good will

SM

l.a.
April, 13, 1966

dear Sheri:

nothing much. only we were speaking of the “female”. you know, at this lucky time of being sick, or whatever it is, I arise at noon, drink coffee and type out whatever I put on slips of paper the night before. then sometimes a few more poems pop up, straight from typer. anyhow, I fiddle and diddel and diddle in this breakfastnook, and by the time I get to the mailbox it is 5:30, 6 p.m. and the females are landing from the busses after their scratchy day at work, and I must pass them on the sidewalk. it is the time of the sun going down, a gentle easy time for me. I have grown a red beard out of which I spring, smoking cigars. anyhow, the female, since the subject is her, here are a couple of poems I wrote about her, will mail them out along with your letter and other poems—

The Stupid
Are Best at the Cruelties

The Sex-Obsessed Ladies Walking by Me after Work

I await
A & P
. you did me honor recognizing my existence, no matter what you say…please be careful. do not let the mob burn you, trap you, fool you—if possible. my love goes with you, in your purse, in your pocket, wherever you go. you are one woman in 90 million women; please be careful, continue to live. I act tough but my sadness often gets impossible, too close in range, stomping me. sometimes a word from out of the world gives the heart a little place to look to.

Buk

l.a.
april 14, 1966

dear Sheri:

letter I wrote yesterday enclosed. Marina and Frances came by yesterday and I got held up. Marina had a cold, now I have a cold. you should see her eyes, Sheri, wild large, large with beautiful color, and now wild, either, calm, very. I was thinking—wild, in terms of life. some people say, she has your eyes. meaning me. this is quite a compliment.

went over to some editor’s place last night (
John Bryan
) (
Notes from Underground
) but there were other people there, and everybody trying to be clever, and laughing all the time. everything is a god damned joke, nothing sacred, everything flip. cigars, grass, beer. Idolization of the hipness of
Neal Cassady
. I see more and more that I don’t belong with the people, have got to crawl back into my hole. having to throw in a chip because I was there, I recited part of a poem I had written:

“say, say, you come on, but you’re a little
brutal
, you know?”

They always want their whipcream. yet Bryan puts out a pretty strong magazine anyhow.

Thanks for the
A & P
, which I got this morning. Marina’s copy will be preserved for her until such time as she becomes
[old] enough to grasp it. Your reading of the charts sounds pretty much like the persons involved—I would say, especially Blazek. I am pretty well under, having gotten fairly high last night, and will dip more into your charts at an easier time. my many thanks for the work involved and for putting the starlight shine on my friends. By the way, Marina’s chart
IS VERY MUCH LIKE HER
. there’s got to be something to this: it seems so accurate. Richmond too. everybody. did he send you his book? I will mail you something for your amusement in next day or so (need large envelope first)—Bryan’s
Peace Issue
, wherein I try to explain what
PEACE
is and what
WAR
is, what
the
ever-war is, so on. Also will send you this month’s Catholic mag
Today
which has an article on one “Charles Bukowski:
Outsider No. 1
” a priest or somebody on the magazine wrote and asked me to tell him what I thought of the article. I let him have it straight and I hope he can get in and out of his smock for a while after I finish.

got a couple of rejections this morning, and now I must read them and decide whether the writing was bad or whether the magazines simply weren’t there.

stay on with us.

love,

Buk

[
handwritten at top
:]

Buk—came ’cross this…was in dif mind…maybe U enjoy—yesss? SM

21. June 66

BukO:

Blaz sends me
Ole
w/yr poem in:
Drunk Again & Wondering
,
Wondering
…
Wang Shou-jen
: “the mind of man is Heaven” and Hell—this fr
The Way of Chinese Painting
—& E.P. has it in
the Cantos that
Kati said “a man’s paradise is his own good nature”
—&
Artie Richer
said it “but first we must invent paradise” in order to go there/ I know the mind-state you were in that evoked the poem—it is cheerless—HOW to reach this paradisial mind-state where we know that we, ourselves, are ‘god’ / atomic parts of the aforesaid. That way we can only blame us—murder in your own self what you hate in the others…that’s the
ONLY
way—& for the
REST
of the Woe—I guess the Chinese is best: “SEE no evil/ hear no evil/ speak no evil”—

& this coming from this person who could have been seen this a.m. early walking in the wet salt sea barefoot along the cold dark sand, weeping salt tears (very wet) praying to the Nereids who live in the sea caves (
H.D.
says “Nereids who dwell in wet caves…” she also gives us a handle to hold onto in the Burning Pot: “and each god-like name spoken is as a shrine in a godless place.”)

There are times when my shoe-laces are falling apart at the seams upstairs when I shreik at the Dough Balls: “Bukowski
UNDERSTANDS
”—Blessed are the Dough Balls that can be shrieked at—and cursed be they who are too evil for even a whisper to pass out of the mouth—Buk—it is better to say ANY name that is sacred to you than to cuss God(tt) but you better tell me too’ countta I slip in low gear especially in the early a.m.

life—jeezzz chriss—it “aint possible”—I think most of our agony comes from our lousy society that is spiritually dead—on the other hand—if we are its antaenne!!! the tip top of it!!! what a thought…

The chinese idea that when we draw paint or write we are keeping this ‘god’ or this ‘heaven’ alive in us is a joyous mind-state to enter—When you wrote you so-sad poem I wept bitterly—& you wrung this letter from my soul—and I enclose a letter (lost some how but will find & send on) I was scribbling to you & as I draw I recall Dr. Wm Carlos Williams at St Liz watching me draw E. P. saying in a cool, clear voice over my shoulder…“ah! I’m
GLAD
you gave him such
n i c e
whiskers…he has
SUCH
AN
UNNNNNN
fortunate
CHIN
”

The big boys—so gentle & amusing in their ego digs—somehow The RoughHouse Set dont come off—but
YOU
—I understand you—
but
only as a person—I find I do not understand the male or female part of the person—it seems to me that it is more a conditioning than a real being—and a thing we must get the hell
OUT
of—follow the Light moth & you’ll fly—all for now—

S

10 March 1967

Bukowski:

the Steve Richmond sent one an edition of
Earth
2
containing a ‘poem’ (?) (is it?? of yours??) untitled/unsigned…these lines: “are you Charles Bukowski” & ending “I was Charles Somebody”

Did
YOU
write that one? or is it a take-off on one of yrs??
MUST
you cackle over yr cock Bukowski?? What’s worse you’ve got them all off cackling o’er their cocks. That’s arse backwards//

“The human soul
is not love but love proceeds from it therefore it does not take delight in itself but only in the love flowing from it.”

YOU
’d make some telephone luv’…you’d be so busy cackling “I’m talking, I’m Charles Somebody” that no goddessa could get through.

I’d like to read more in praise of love & less in praise of your battle-stick Charles. my 12 dogs all feel the same way ’bout same subject matter as you do…why ought one read above poem when one can get a really straightforward account from observing the dog population?? only the dogs display such a
sense of responsibility to Doll or Nikki (their wives)—there’s none of this hop-to @ first op to—

O!
Telo Rigido
! or how th’ dickens EP spells / an orgasm is not ecstasy—ecstasy has power to elevate the soma weightlessly…every cell participates…th’ cock is a local stop…Love
‘e forma di Filosofia’

You lead the female down the Ego-path when you move her mind towards thinking she SO irresistible that the Grit Poet loses his will power @ sight of
HER
—the Gods are very different in their Way of Love than you poets (said she)

Yr photos looking tall & otherwise good day to you Charles

4-16-67
3 a.m.
[
handwritten letter
]

Sherrieee:

You keep picking at the Word!

When I said that Pound “knew too much” I meant that he studied too much & that when a man is studying he cannot be doing something else.

Now, of course, your
next
move will be to tell me to be
exact
with the language, that you don’t have the time to play around with half-words, you have
WORK
to do!

All right, do your work & stop being cranky with me.

I never received the painting you promised. But did rec. a photo. That’s all right. Photo’s all right. Do you want me to ship ya won a mine paintings? I paint too, tho not very good they tell me. But if I listen to them they will stop the flow of all my natural movements, including shitting, eating, fucking, so forth. I do what I do and what I do is nec. for me.

Met an intellectual, one
John Thomas
X, who has letters from Pound and claims you couldn’t have known Pound at St. Liz and for me to tell you so. I have done so.

I don’t know how in in the hell I get in the middle.

From my
heart-instinct
I
know
you knew Pound. I tell him this.

Yet, still, he is a good man, tho heavy-brained & kool toward individual pain toward singular & mass objects.

So much for that.

As for me, I am writing better as I get older. I used to run all over the page—now I can say the same 100 words in ten. And I am more
in
myself &
out
of myself than before. I once said that if I could live to be 55 that I would be able to write. I said that when I was 30 years old, I had 25 years to go. Now I have 8,
if
I make it. But, of course,
being
55 won’t make it; one has to
arrive
at 55 in a certain form & shape. So far, sweetie, I am pure as melted butter. There have been little slips & slides but all to the good.

Any word for John Thomas? He lives at 2245 Lakeshore, Los Angeles. We sit around his place listening to the
Horse Vessell Song
or however you spell it, and when I leave he hands me little pictures of Hitler dead at the bunker,
Goring
after suicide, so forth, I don’t know if he is joking or not. The whole thing seems a little melancholy & depressive to me. John is supported by a beautiful woman while I must work for a living—and even tho I might be the better poet, his is the happier life.

I hope you can read this. I am yours when you need me. Please keep alive & doing what is needed.

Love,

Buk

[
SM’s response to the preceding letter is undated and unsigned.

She later identified the final sentence as a piece of advice Pound once gave her.
]

One awaits a seal & once properly ‘seal’d’ yr chinese scroll will be sent down to you/ as it is it aint yet
THERE
/ patience.

one refuses to be drawn into any political discussions @ degree of yr acquaintance…her only comment: gentlemen most especially american gentlemen do not “doubt” without representation. There exists (unfortunately)
TOO
many printed proofs as to those days. Tell him to go look them up in the library and/or book marts. As E. P. wd state: “he aint got ’is ’omework done.” Dismissed.

Yr letter does
not
sound like
YOU
—the spirit of it is wrong—as if it were you being motivated. Never in this long correspondence have you
EVER
presumed what this person wd do/say/write!! “Now, of course, your
next
move etc” Just dont understand that tone.

AND
such a seal is not easy to get—am trying—only got saturdays to look for such—you can be certain that one will find a seal OR make one her self & then your little scroll will bashfully stand before yr eye/ yr inner eye/

all for now—and one rarely writes letters these days…as He said “to very old friends or very new”…& friends are persons who are friendly/ friend: fr old A.S. word meaning: to love /

Have nothing to do w/the affairs of t/world