I haven't read this guy in awhile, cause I think I was happy - well happier, but I feel tired and anti social. I guess that is what retail does to you, especially when customers need the author of this book and can't find the section for that book and then feed ISBN the cat chicken nuggets while I'm the only one who knows that human food makes him barf...so now I'm in the mood for this.
This is one of the last things he wrote before he died, which is mainly a journal he kept about his daily happenings and ramblings. He's 71 and is self-actualized; not afraid of death; hates dealing with people, but keeps on writing, gambling, and drinking..pretty much what he always does, knows it, and still doesn't give a shit. He knew that when he was dead people would love him and they do. I know its Bukowski, and this isn't all very new... but something about his senile character shows a bit of honest wisdom that only comes with age. (a bit meaning a whole bunch).
R. Crumb does the illustrations for this too.
This is exactly what I needed....
No comments:
Post a Comment