The Captain Is Out to Lunch by Charles Bukowski Read Free Book Online Page B

tacked to the wall. I'll paint them with a long brush and probably even like it.
    But right now, it's the faces of the horseplayers, cardboard faces, horrible, evil, blank, greedy, dying faces, day papers, watching the changes on the toteboard as they are being ground away to lett and less, as I stand there with them, as I am one with them. We are sick, the suckerfish of hope. Our poor clothing, our old cars. We move toward the mirage, our lives wasted like everyboy else's.

11/3/91 12:48 AM

    Stayed home from the track today, have had a sore throat and a pain at the top of my head, a tittle toward the right side of it. When you get to be 71 you can never tell when your head is going to explode through the windshield. I still go after a good drunk now and then and smoke far too many cigarettes. The body get pissed off at me for doing this, but the mind must be fed too. And the spirit. Drinking feeds my mind and my spirit. Anyhow, I stayed in from the track, slept until 12:20 p.m.
    Easy day. Got in the spa like a big timer. The sun was out and the water bubbled and whirled, hot. I soothed out. Why not? Get an edge. Try to feel better. The whole world is a sack of shit ripping open. I can't save it. But I've gotten many letters from people who claim that my writing has saved their asses. But I didn't write it for that, I wrote it to save my own ass. I was always outside, never fit. I found that out in the schoolyards. And another thing I learned was that I learned very slowly. The other guys knew everything, I didn't know a fucking thing. Everything was bathed in a white and dizzying light. I was a fool. And yet, even when I was a fool I knew that I wasn't a complete fool. I had some little corner of me that I was protecting , there was something there. No matter. Here I was in a spa and my life was closing down. I didn't mind, I had seen the circus. Still, there are always more things to write until they throw me into the darkness or into whatever it is. That's the good thing about the word, it just keeps trotting on, looking for things, forming sentences, having a ball. I was full of words and they still came out in a good form. I was lucky. In the spa. Bad throat, pain in head, I was luck. Old writer in spa, musing. Nice, nice. But hell is always there, waiting to unfurl.
    My old yellow cat came up and looked at me in the water. We looked at each other. We each knew everything and nothing. Then he walked off.
    The day went on. Linda and I had lunch somewhere, don't remember where. Food not so good, packed with Saturday people. They were alive but they weren't alive. Sitting at the tables and booths, eating and talking. Wait, Jesus, that reminds me. Had lunch the other day before going to the track. Sat at the counter, it was completely empty. I had gotten my order and was eating. Man walked in and took the seat RIGHT NEXT TO MINE. Threre were 20 or 25 other seats. He took the one next to me. I'm just not that fond of people. The further I am from them the better I feel. And he put in his order and started talking into the waitress. About professional football. I watch it sometimes myself, but to talk about it in a cafe? They went on and on, dribbles about this and that. On and on. Favorite player. Who should win, etc. Then somebody at a booth joined in. I suppose I wouldn't have minded it all so much if I hadn't been rubbing elbows with that bastard next to me. A good sort, sure. He liked football. Safe. American. Sitting next to me. Forget it.
    So yes, we had lunch, Linda and I, got back and it went restfully toward the night, then just after dark Linda noticed something. She was good at that sort of thing. I saw her coming back through the yard and she said, "Old Charley fell, the fire department is there.“
    Old Charley is the 96-year-old guy who lives in the big house next door to us. His wife died last week. They were married 46 years.
    I walked out front and