I just bought a book of Charles Bukowsi’s: You get so alone at times that it just makes sense.
I found in it a magic poem, which resonated with me.
The magic curse
I never liked skid-row and so I stayed away from the soup
Kitchens, the bloodbanks and all the so-called hand-
I got so god damned thin that if
I turned sidewise it was hard to see my shadow under a
Hard noon sun.
It didn’t matter to me so long as I stayed away from the
And even down there it was a
Successful and unsuccessful
I don’t think I was insane
But many of the
But I think
If anything saved me
It was the avoidance of the
It was my
Get me in a room with more than
I tend to act
Even asked my wife: look, I must be
Sick… perhaps I ought to see a
Christ, I said, he might cure me
And then what would I
She just looked at me and we forgot the