Bukowski’s (all new in ‘82) NOTES OF A DIRTY OLD MAN (excerpt #3 from his original Smoke Signals column)

Hello Mike, well yes, like everybody else I’ve been getting slapped across the head and into the gut with problems that should never be.  Most of my bad shit is caused other people who can’[[t seem to operate.  To me, it’s a very curious thing tha most people do survive.  It’s just like nobody can do anything and they just pretend they can.  What a wearing Universe.  It doesn’t fit.

Well, the movie, T.O.O.M. (Tales Of Ordinary Madness).  I saw it twice but was pretty drunk each time, but didn’t care much for it.  I suppose if you approach it with one foot up your ass you might be able to gulp it down.  I think Ferrari’s problem was that he adored me too much.  I would have preferred to have been pictured as more comical, insane, helpless, yet durable and, at times, inventive out of desperation and lack of anything else to do.

Gazzara was entirely too sane and lovable and understanding and controlled.  Any reviews that called me a “San Francisco beatnik” are shit-can nonsense.  I’ve met some of the beats and they are nothing, were nothing but loud-mouthed door to door salesmen hollering POET POET POET.  What conspicuous dull blathering asses they were, are. . .I wasn’t even writing in the 50s, I was trying to drink myself to death.  Ah well, the reviewers can’t do their homework, won’t, so they just say something.

It doesn’t matter, misinterpretation is the norm.

I keep typing.

I like the sound of the machine.

I don’t blame you for sinking your mag.  Writers are the worst of people, people that I’ve met, at any rate. They push soul in words, but meet them and listen to them and you’ll puke across the landscape.

Of course, I’m a writer too, and the thing about complaint is that while you’re doing that you’re not doing the other thing, the lucky thing, the good thing, getting the sight on the magic of this temporary chance which will ed without much done, maybe rightfully so. . .

Ah, holy shit Christ, I’m going to get drunker, and when you don’t know what else to do—might suggest the same to you.

“ESCAPE!” my women used to yell at me, and I said to them, “ “why not?”

                                      sure, yours?