20.2.11
a poem...
A poem for swingers, a poem for the playgirls of the universe
I like women who haven’t lived with too many men.I don’t expect virginity but I simply prefer women
who haven’t been rubbed raw by experience.
There is a quality about women who choose
men sparingly;
it appears in their walk
in their eyes
in their laughter and in their
gentle hearts.
Women who have had too many men
seem to choose the next one
out of revenge rather than with
feeling.
When you play the field selfishly everything
works against you:
one can’t insist on love or
demand affection.
you’re finally left with whatever
you have been willing to give
which often is:
nothing.
Some women are delicate things
some women are delicious and
wondrous.
If you want to piss on the sun
go ahead
but please leave them
alone.
- Charles Bukowski
19.2.11
18.2.11
16.2.11
playing by heart
“I have a friend, a jazz musician, trumpet player. Really terrific. And I go and hear him jam every month or so. And he plays this piece I love: an old Chet Baker song. And he blows the same notes every time, but every time it sounds different.
And we had drinks one night– when I used to drink– and I tried to tell him how that song made me feel… how the music made me feel and how his playing made me feel.
And he just kept shakin’ his head, and he said… “Joan, you can’t talk about music. Talking about music is like dancing about architecture.”
I just said, “Well, gonna get all philosophical on me. It’s just as pointless as talking about a lot of things. Love, for instance.”
And my friend laughed, and he said, “Definitely. Most definitely. Talking about love is like dancing about architecture.”
So I don’t know. He might be right. But it ain’t gonna stop me from trying.”
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