Monday 9:30 p.m.
It was another grey dull day and I felt as if I had been in too long, and so I hadn't been settled, or something like that, and I couldn't get the wee bit of the movie out of my head, the one I saw a bit of last night before sleeping. Factotum. It was supposed to be about Charles Bukowski.
Lance Flynn, who once stayed with the sensei, told me about Charles Bukowski. It takes the shy like moi a long time to find out about anything. So I went and read a novel or two, one I remember about being a postman. Not written seventeen times in longhand, etc., but had something you could't quite put your finger on.
We went for a weekend to the Holy Isle, just off Arran, to help with the building work. Dearie me! I spent the three days in a tent, and refused to come out. Before that, we'd been sheltering in this hovel place and one of the books there was a book of poetry by Charles Bukowski. I hung around in there for hours waiting for the rain to stop, and read half of this poetry book. I don't read poetry books. Really loved it.
I saw a telly show about Charles Bukowski and he did not show up in a very good light. Maybe not somebody you'd really want to know. Not nicety nice. Certainly not.
Then I read Ham on Rye, which is a kind of autobiographical thing. It is a wonderful book! It is a bit gross, but the boy is right in your face. A brilliant book.
I read a book once called A Thief's Journal (?) by Jean Genet. A fabulous book. It's about Jean Genet really and he does not seem to have been a very nice person either.
I must say I saw this BBC2 show about Jean Genet when he was old and living in Morocco. (Where else?) I remember him as very charming.
Above all others, to thine own self be true
There's something about being a misfit and losing yourself in the writing process and producing something like that. The Autobiography of a Murderer by Hugh Collins is book of great class as well.
Once when I was a couple of months off the beer, I found an obituary about Charles Bukowski in the Observer on Sunday afternoon, and immediately went for a drink. There's something about Charles Bukowski. Glad I gave all that writing crap up, of course. Mug's game!
I'm so much more fortunate than Charles Bukowski, but I did go out on the beer this afternoon and considered my tao.