Hollywood by Charles Bukowski Read Free Book Online Page B

and ever and ever!
I enclose some of my latest work...
    He signed his name with a leaping downward stroke to the right, making a long curving line after the last letter of his name, and below that, what appeared to be a drawing of a face.
    It was an envelope full of poems, none of them typewritten. They were hastily printed in blue ink on yellow paper with thin blue lines.
    Sarah brought the wine bottle and corkscrew, opened it herself and poured two glasses.
    “Charles Manson,” she said, “no wonder they wanted to let that place go cheap.”
    “I’m glad you remembered the photographs.”
    Sarah opened the Herald Examiner and I began on the first poem:
THE POET
they slay the poet
they burn the poet
they ignore the poet
they hate the poet

but the moon knows
the poet
and the prostitutes
know
the agony of the
poet
and they give it to him
for free
they lick the hair
of his balls in
holy prayer

the poet will not die

even in death
he sits inside the
moon
and gives the finger
to the
universe!

THE POET AT PLAY:
I suck her strawberry
tits.
I suck the hairs of
her ass.
I eat her vanilla
come.
at dawn she sucks
my toes.
I sneeze through my
ass.
she laughs.
we
sleep.
    I didn’t feel inclined to read the remainder of the manuscript. I knew what the remaining poems would be about: THE POET.
    Sarah looked up from the Herald Examiner .
    “Somebody send you some more poems to read?”
    “Yes, it happens 3 or 4 times a month.”
    “You’re not a publisher. Why do they do it?”
    “It’s a hate-love relationship they feel toward me.”
    “How are his poems?”
    “He’s not as good as he thinks he is, but then most of us feel that way.”
    “You get poems from Women too, right?”
    “Yeah. Some of them with nude photos and come-ons. They think I can get them published. Or they want a blurb for the cover of some small press book.”
    “Those dirty cunts!”
    “Right!”
    We clicked our glasses, drained them, then I poured two more.
    I opened the other envelope. It was from Vin Marbad:
    ARTICLES OF INCORPORATION
    I began reading. The jargon was Corporate Lawyer. I tried to break it down into plain English and a part I disliked immediately said:
If the President of the Corporation is judged insane by a court-appointed psychiatrist the other members of said Corporation may by a majority vote divide all the assets of said Corporation equally among themselves.
    I took my pen and crossed this passage out with heavy dark lines. Then I poured another drink after emptying my glass and read on:
If the President of said Corporation is judged incapable to carry out his duties because of the use of drugs or intoxicating beverages, or if he is deemed sexually overactive detrimental to the common good of Society or the Corporation, then after a majority vote of said members, the President of said Corporation will be placed in a role of diminished authority and all assets of said Corporation will be divided equally among the remaining members.
    I took my pen and heavily marked out this section. Then read further:
If the President of the Corporation is judged senile...
    I crossed out this passage.
If the President of the Corporation is addicted to gambling...
    Cross out.
The President of the Corporation is allowed one vote equal to the vote of each member, all votes counting the same...
    Cross out.
    I read on and on. It was horrifying, it seemed barbaric. It was terrifying. I crossed out passage after passage. There must have been 17 or 18 pages. When I finished, the pages were a mass of black lines.
    Sarah brought another bottle. I pushed the pages away.
    “God Almighty, God Almighty, this has made me sick! This is wretched and pitiful stuff! I can’t believe it!”
    “Don’t sign that crap then,” said Sarah.
    “Never,” I said.
    I found a piece of paper, then wrote on it;
    “Vin: I can’t do it. This is a nightmare in hell!”
    Then I jammed everything into the stamped return envelope and pushed it away to mail