I couldn't slow my progress if I tried. “The most spiritual men, as the strongest, find their happiness where others would find their destruction: in the labyrinth, in hardness against themselves and others, in experiments. Their joy is self-conquest: asceticism becomes in them nature, need, and instinct. Difficult tasks are a privilege to them; to play with burdens that crush others, a recreation. Knowledge - a form of asceticism. They are the most venerable kind of man: that does not preclude their being the most cheerful and the kindliest.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche
Thank you so much me never try so neighter pass nor fail just flow like a FLOATING cork thrown out of a woumb or bottle hardly matters. Sensing the flow called fluid of river of life MATTER'S and to exist is ultimate experiment and excellence and that's all.Thanks again.
Dec. 23, I990 Hello Wm Packard: No, you're not down, maybe I'm down, sometimes I feel like my skivvies are down around my ankles and my butt is a target for hyena turds. Listen, your Pincus is awful hard on the poets. I thought I was hard on the poets. Well, I'm glad I get by him. And he's right on WAITING. Only if the octipus has you in its tentacals you can't wait too long. On WAITING I know what he means. Too many writers write for the wrong reasons. They want to get famous or they want to get rich or they want to get laid by the girls with bluebells in their hair. (Maybe that last ain't a bad idea). When everything works best it's not because you chose writing but because writing chose you. It's when you're mad with it, it's when it's stuffed in your ears, your nostrils, under your fingernails. It's when there's no hope but that. Once in Atlanta, starving in a tar paper shack, freezing. There were only newspapers for a floor. And I found a pencil stub and I wrote on the white margins of the edges of those newspapers with the pencil stub, knowing that nobody would ever see it. It was a cancer madness. And it was never work or planned or part of a school. It was. That's all. And why do we fail? It's the age, something about the age, our Age. For half a century there has been nothing., No real breakthrough, no newness, no blazing energy, no gamble. What? Who? Lowell? That grasshopper? Don't sing me crap songs. We do what we can and we don't do very well. Strictured. Locked. We pose at it. We work too hard. We try too hard. Don't try. Don't work. It's there. It's been looking right at us, aching to kick out of the closed womb. There's been too much direction. It's all free, we needn't be told. Classes? Classes are for asses. Writing a poem is as easy as beating your meat or drinking a bottle of beer. Look. Here's one: flux mother saw the racoon, my wife told me. ah, I said. and that was just about the shape of things tonight. HAPPY NEW YEAR
I am the only one laughting when he says "And I said: "Ahhh." And that was it. LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL. That is totally Bukowski making a joke. Just trying to make a friend feel better by telling him hey my shits boring too. lol
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He just translated what many come to realise too late.
It’s ALL there in front of us but we are distracted by the thinking mind.
RIP
thinking minds realize things man. Numb minds dont
You're right, you need eyes to see, only then thinking helps@@aarondavid5866
"Don't Try." The words on his headstone.
This is a great letter. I really need to read more of his work. Thanks for your work (again!)☺
More Bukowski is a very good thing I have found. He rarely, rarely disappoints. Happy reading!
Isn’t William packard a famous UCLA chemist
Oh nice I didn’t know this had been released to the public but I had heard about it of course. I never really looked for it though...
I couldn't slow my progress if I tried.
“The most spiritual men, as the strongest, find their happiness where others would find their destruction: in the labyrinth, in hardness against themselves and others, in experiments. Their joy is self-conquest: asceticism becomes in them nature, need, and instinct. Difficult tasks are a privilege to them; to play with burdens that crush others, a recreation. Knowledge - a form of asceticism. They are the most venerable kind of man: that does not preclude their being the most cheerful and the kindliest.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Thank you so much me never try so neighter pass nor fail just flow like a FLOATING cork thrown out of a woumb or bottle hardly matters. Sensing the flow called fluid of river of life MATTER'S and to exist is ultimate experiment and excellence and that's all.Thanks again.
Dec. 23, I990
Hello Wm Packard:
No, you're not down, maybe I'm down, sometimes I feel like my skivvies are down around my ankles and my butt is a target for hyena turds.
Listen, your Pincus is awful hard on the poets. I thought I was hard on the poets. Well, I'm glad I get by him. And he's right on WAITING. Only if the octipus has you in its tentacals you can't wait too long.
On WAITING I know what he means. Too many writers write for the wrong reasons. They want to get famous or they want to get rich or they want to get laid by the girls with bluebells in their hair. (Maybe that last ain't a bad idea).
When everything works best it's not because you chose writing but because writing chose you. It's when you're mad with it, it's when it's stuffed in your ears, your nostrils, under your fingernails. It's when there's no hope but that.
Once in Atlanta, starving in a tar paper shack, freezing. There were only newspapers for a floor. And I found a pencil stub and I wrote on the white margins of the edges of those newspapers with the pencil stub, knowing that nobody would ever see it. It was a cancer madness. And it was never work or planned or part of a school. It was. That's all.
And why do we fail? It's the age, something about the age, our Age. For half a century there has been nothing., No real breakthrough, no newness, no blazing energy, no gamble.
What? Who? Lowell? That grasshopper? Don't sing me crap songs.
We do what we can and we don't do very well.
Strictured. Locked. We pose at it.
We work too hard. We try too hard.
Don't try. Don't work. It's there. It's been looking right at us, aching to kick out of the closed womb.
There's been too much direction. It's all free, we needn't be told.
Classes? Classes are for asses.
Writing a poem is as easy as beating your meat or drinking a bottle of beer. Look. Here's one:
flux
mother saw the racoon,
my wife told me.
ah, I said.
and that was
just about
the shape of things
tonight.
HAPPY NEW YEAR
Don’t try = Do it !
❤❤❤❤❤❤❤
I am the only one laughting when he says "And I said: "Ahhh." And that was it. LOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL. That is totally Bukowski making a joke. Just trying to make a friend feel better by telling him hey my shits boring too. lol
I tried and it was the fucking worst thing I ever did
The visuals make me dizzy.
Nihilism is a cop out!
Nihilism is a cop out. But Bukowksi was not really a nihilist as much as he was what I like to refer to as a "dark Buddhist"