Beerspit Night and Cursing (39 page)

MikeAngel’s family at him “money—we wanna go inna business” & some manic-depressive took his statue & made a cannon of it—the pope rob’d him of his hard earned $ & then threated to wash him away unless he came back—they made him paint when he wanted to pound—it was a bitch & 1/2

and
Ovid
!! dear Ovid!! he sounds like Sheri Martinelli among the savages on the west coast of north america. Even Ovid wails that he’d take the easy way out but there aint no body to hip him as to whether it the final snuff or just the lousy beginning of a New Cliff Hanger—

you are The Yeast—little one—& it’s yr dooty to take these dough balls & raise them up—you are The Chosen One O Innocent One—and you got to raise the dough…and then when we got the dough up high nuff—we all get baked into a heavenly loaf—the god sups & the Good of The Bread—enter his Divine Body & get new jobs…he shits out all the dross…to the chaos cess pool—and it all starts all over again—that’s called Rollin’ Up th Scroll. Every cell of yr body is a former friend or foe who was shit out—sent to chaos—and enters cosmos as a wee cell with a number to it—it must work for
YOU
—when those dough balls bug you—visualize them the size of a cell—forming a body that some one like you will come & punish the hell out of them—it is Zen/ it is Yin/ it is Yang/ it is Paradise/Purgatory/Terrestrial Paradiso all over the platz Buk—As E.P. said “a fish bowl—not flat”—it goes on all the time & all the space—I saw a hash vision of it once—if you can imagine tissue sheets hanging in close layers from one end yr room to the other—then same size tissue sheets cross sectioning the first set—and I cd see all of them at once—that was a night worth living for—

Here’s to
YOU
Blythe Spirit—bird thou never wert
—you came right out of—a hashish yurt—(try to forgive)(I can’t resist)—wdn’t it be won’r’l if the national fathers revived the old time religion—and festivals could be held yearly & we’d go
THERE
—and see—and then we’d sit on a mt top & try to fly high on our own hi fi—O dream—I am so bored with the dog rut sluts—

How/where can these books of yrs be obtained??? Give me $&¢ listing also—you list:

Cold Dogs in the Courtyard

Crucifix in a Deathhand

Confessions of a Man Insane Enough to Live with Beasts

Poems Written before Fumping Out of an 8 Story Window
&
Atomic Scribblings

get the nec info to me—where to purchase / how much cost—I can
SELL
some for you now—if they are not too much of course—I cdn’t sell
The Webb
—it wd prob be too much—but any of yr books that don’t cost more than $2.—I’d be able to get some sales for you—

what is the birth hour of yr daughter? what day is Labor day? hurry—immediately get me that info—I’d have to send for a book & it will cost more after end of yr—rush info to me—she must have very different stars to be
YOUR
daughter—think of what you will leave this little girl—a life!! the rest will get paw’s automobile but you—Godling—have granted a small female spirit—the most precious gift—like E.P. did for
Mary
—his / a
LIFE
—not just survival—Of course you have complete communication with her—she chose
YOU
—for her hero—her doorway back into The Tear Factory—

as for men & women breaking apart—not even D.P & E.P made The Scene w/out him raising a ruckus. As for me—only the direst poverty keeps me from murder or walkin’—No one can make it—maybe Jesus Christ & Mary Magdelon in the dessert—
“Expect the solid from the self & the trifling from the rest & it will keep you far from Resentment”
—and study astrology—inbetween—My problem has a Leo rising & his Problem has Scorpio rising—Leo is a fire sign / Scorp is a water sign—he burns me up & I sizzle him—we make Big Steam 7 yrs—it adds humour to the battle to shriek “you bloody Leo ascending” while shrieking—he mutters—

I will send Marina Louise a work of art as her birth present—

6/Jan/ 66 s.m. to buk/

Doll—Don’t answer until or unless you got
time
but get me yr
hour

yr bel’ bambina:
Virgo
in
5th House: Leo w/Aries ascendent
. (cd always be incorrect because of a few degrees but fairly correct)
Pluto is in Virgo
: sub-conscious force. Also conscience. Also isolator of the l-in-annihilation/ chances/individuals etc. Also Plut’ rules “the dark horse”—the unknown / also rules the beginning. The genesis. This individual knew you
IN
the
BEGINNING
!!!!

Virgo
: to improve—to teach & I analyze, I discriminate.

Leo
: to release & I will, I rule.

Aries
: to breathe, to be & I am.
Aries
: truth/
Leo
: harmony/
Virgo
: discrimination.

With
Pluto
in the
5th House of Leo
—this 1-in-a-million child got her 1 in a million chance to be the daughter of a well-known poet who may go on to real fame. It makes her home life unusual & miraculous in ways. She is born in the maternal trinity of the zodiac—she will ‘mother’ you & others.

Virgo is the Eternal Virgin—the 5th House of Leo refers to: romance/children/educational institutions (she came to teach & to improve—see above) pleasures/sports/speculation/creative power.

Pluto also represents: the collective/and institutions—she may have come to teach the Collective or those in institutions.

Virgo represents one’s work. The 5th House is Succeedent House related to the Fixed signs & relates to: stable qualities & matters connected w/inner emotion. She is born in the 5th House of Leo.

The 6th House of Virgo: ties in w/ the “common” or
mutable signs & relates to mental expression/variable conditions/ inter-communications. The personal view/interest & spiritual urges are expressed through the 1st & 5th & 9th Houses/ relates to the Fire signs/ she is in 5th H. Leo. The greatest material or objective activity goes with 2nd/6th & 10th Houses & tie in with Earth signs. she is Virgo the 6th H.

The Fixed Signs (5th H. Leo) indicate the vices & virtues brought over from past lives. The Common or Mutable Signs (her Virgo is 6th H & one of such) relates to mental & spiritual gifts for future expansion & development. Fixed group: stability-permanence,
WILL
, solidity, dynamic energy. Mutables: flexibility, intellectuality,
WISDOM
, expansive energy. It represents spiritual persons / the soul.

Leo is fire (a Lion)

Virgo is earth (a Virgin)

Aries is fire (a ram). What a
trio
—Aries is her ascendent—rules her physical being—is the sign of the Ram—her birth sign is Virgo—it is an earth sign—& she is born in Leo’s house—another fire sign.

That’s it for right now Buk—you can see she came to
DO
something. What is her name???

Yr Uncle prob remembers yr birth hour.

YES
of course—I want to read yr critical reviews—a small audience for yr work is slowly building through what contacts yr typist has.

Thank you for Webb address—nice comment he made & very good of you to tell me. I can count the nice things that have been said to me or about me since E.P. sailed away on the
cristoforo columbo
on one hand.

This bloody world of opposites/extremes—seems one is either
NEVER
left alone or left alone too much—I spend 10 hrs a day in one position—alone except for 1/2hr lunch w/him. It instructs one—I miss sun, air & exercise—but will break out first chance—for desert. Women represent the psychic force—but most are “wasted”—yes / the 7 deadlys waste them—the slave’s plight—no—Buk—no Virgo will ever yield her temple to a sailor who “never read
Walter deLaMere
…” cdn’t jump off…Virgo too discriminating.

I made her a pearl charm yest[erday]/ it’ll be encl—

YOU
worry me—yr last paragraph sounds morbid—

As to “painting”—there
IS
a time to fish & a time to dry the net—right now am conceiving painting seeds—they burst into the mind & one sees them—they’ll mature & break out as the queer-ducks the dough-balls call “paintings”—right now v. important for me to chew on astrology—a nat. food for my kind larva—grubbie is grubbin’ it up/

you are being ordered to: take 4 brewer’s yeast tablets w/each can beer—plus vit. c.—one is not proscribing
medicine
—that’s der duckder’s jobpppp—one is talking about
FOOD
—you
NEED
it Luv—you & the beauteous young Blaz are all there is now—he has a beautiful mind that seems to be lacking in any malice—like yrsss doll baby—hop to & take brewer’s yeast—maybe not 4 w/each can beer—that was a faint joke—but at least 3 times a day take 4 / w / vit c / or rose hips—go to health food store &
GET
—if the customers look dingy to you imagine them w/out their food supplements!!
The Law
: Man is made by his own belief—the mind is everything—what you think you become—and you Krout headtttt—you are thinking of the
not you
—drink does not harm any /
Patunjoli
states that it is one way to the god state/
Appolonius of Tyana
said it merely stains the soul—

’s o.k.—so’s all of it—some more harsh than others—let it get you high then sit back & dig the high mind—try to get there on yr own—that’s the good fight—
the way
—but don’t talk abt it causing you harm—it is powerless against the mind—state of health—

behave yrself Bukowski—you & Blaz—that’s it—E.P.’s hole’d up under the Green Bay Tree—his Bramin state—Keep yr dick
UP
buk—it’s been some busy god-rod if we’re to believe
YOUR
printed word—the l’l stay at home-ers are twitching their cuntus domesticus over yr wild words—

dawhlinkkk—the next world is a carry on of this—we got
F O R E V E R
to finish all we begin down here in th hell hole—this is where we come to
DO
…then we finish the job all over our planetary system—
NOT
on Mt. Shasta doll but on Pluto—or Arcturus/

(interruption: 10/56 am—am downtown S.F.—sea gulls screaming & flying over camper…they my bird sign or one of my signs…something either v. good or v. wrong is/or will be jumpin’ orfff…11/05—now they are gone—)

Swedenburg
said that some of the paradisial spirits when they have emptied their cosmic-bank account & must come back to work for their own good by being good for others—they weep—“oh
NO
, not again!!”

Be good you
GOOD
stud & we’ll sit on our arses in paradise & read the stars from that end of the ’scope—we must either
CHANGE
the world
for cosmos—or
de-range
it for chaos

SM

[
followed by an elaborate handdrawn astrological chart
]

Luv oye bean in big contemplatio
23 feb 1966

S.M. c/o Sloan & Co #7 74 Crestwood
Westlake Daly City Calif/

T/
Sloans
real interest in Bukowski—do write & ask ’em for their slant on Bukow—Willy Sloan has inner eye set @ degree: Buk wd also
SEE

re: ‘see’—this worthless thing drew a small scroll for you & will hop it on its way to you—the encl photo is it—it is Bukowski perched high on his dangerous peak…deep pine & the round moon’s ray…whilst far below the slumbering huts & a winding stream gets crossed by a foot-path bridge…I have walked over the bridge & it is safe but not when storms cause rolling water to o’erflow bridge…& I have plucked the strings of the lute you hold & they were sweet true & the music notes are edible—& the E.P. drawing was on a letter to you—I need’d it for a while—sometimes these drawings are him & sometimes they aint/ this one is—need for the illuminations—no one can do illuminations until they are
AT ONE
ment…am on t/way—

answer me Thou! & ask Willy Sloan whut’e thinks’bout yr
Confessions of a Man Insane Nuff to Live w/Beasts
…he got a view & Buk ought to see it—

all for now Precious Fang&Claw…write & tell me…tell me…

Princess
RA SET
over & out to Buk

l.a. march eleven one9six6

Sheeerriiiiieee—

have not heard from mah German uncle, and prob. won’t now. prob. something I said in my letters either frightened or disgusted him and so it goes and so we’ll never know the hour of my birth, but guess we’ll all go on a while: Uncle, me, you.

back from hospital last Sunday. surgery for 15 years’ or more hemorrhoids and distended intestine. sitting with very great delicacy upon these pillows as my radio finally gives me some decent symphony music (Mozart). you are lucky for me. it is a painful time, of course. I wish you could hear my monologue during bowel movements. you would have to laugh but I am in dead earnest about my cusses and pronouncements during all this…shitting. I will be unable to work for from 4 to 8 weeks, which doesn’t bother me at all. there is something wrong with me: I am never bored when I am alone; I am only bored and distressed and hammered while I am around people. take away the physical pain and this is a pretty perfect time, although I cannot sit at a typer too long. they tell me that my liver is in bad shape too. my drinking days are over—if I am able to stop, and don’t
think
I’ll have any trouble. it is almost a relief, it is as if I had been carrying around a heavy stone that I didn’t need to carry at all. but, hell, no regrets, even at physical breakdown—there were some wild great times, but now I pass
among the tombstones and palms and look around more gently, still seeking those things which lift me, make me complete enough to gamble a bit longer. there’s still plenty left, both of me and of ways to get in and out of trouble, and still things to do like paint and sleep and listen and read and not read and not sleep and not paint, and drink water, and tangle with women, and sun gaze and change flat tires, and spit, and walk down the sidewalk being 4,000 years old; I can look at lettuce and eat it, I can write Sheri Martinelli, I can drown myself or clip my fingernails, I can look in the mirror at this crazy chopped-up face and laugh; I can do
nothing
with the greatest of pleasure. I am more aware now than ever of my fingers, my nose, my feet, my ears, my elbows,
MY ASS
!!—what strange things, eh?, goofy what? there’s plenty to go by, there’s plenty left. sailboats. rats in the halls. rats in clothing. I could run out of paper. I could run out of time. I could run out of sunlight. what I mean is, Sheri, that everything is all right. we work up and down, fall into hoary pits, shoot past angels making love; we ride tigers and are ridden by them…we are covered with shit and clouds and energy and unfolding.

now my ass is starting to holler and I must end this. paint it, sweetheart, paint it blazing you good woman, I’ll meet you on the Nile, 5009 a.d., we’ll eat dates with Ezra. now I am eating lettuce and oranges and apples and all my ghosts are puzzled; small cats peer into my windows, smile like humans, and everything is fixed o.k.

love,

Buk

p.s.—the Sungod Apollo is to be rebuilt in aluminum.

15. March 66 pobx 1044 pacifica calif

Buk:

good for you to get 4 to 8 wks vacation—stretch it out man—

gave yr book to
Kay Harrison
& she is taking it to her lit
teacher here & you are being read by young painter
Pat Green
& her friends—man you are traveling!!! Stay well—it will
OPEN
up for you dear Buk of the opal lights—

I am making a special surprise
Bukowski edition of the
A & P
& it is going to be a good one—cant write much as am banging away at stencils—but one day in mail…luv…it’ll come…and with

l u v /

Shed /

[
drawn around the type is a picture of a cat saying “’allo mon” with SM’s query “This yo’ cat smiles like people?
”]

l.a.
March oneseven, one9six6

Sheri, Sheri:

yes, you drew my cat, my cat loves me more than birds but the reason is different.

you keep speaking of my “book” and I wonder which one:
It Catches My Heart in Its Hands
, or the recent Jon Webber colorscope,
Crucifix in a Deathhand
. well, it doesn’t matter. I wrote both books.

you got Bukowski in your next
A & P
? you worry me, as I don’t know about myself, how can you know? well, maybe you do. and I like your strange mystic ancient-eye classical and wisdom magazine (?) anyhow. it is like a painting, a rumbling, talking, shining bloody painting, yes. then you are busy. good. but drink coffee, don’t forget the plants, the sun, the seaweed…I am busy too, so this must be short, I am cutting some tapes for
Webb who is going to put out
a longplay of me talking
. not poetry. just talk. talking into the thing and hardly knowing the why and how. no strain. like frying an egg or looking out the window. you understand. anyhow, with the talk-record he hopes to get enough money to get him into
Outsider
#4, the
Patchen
issue, and then he’s running a book by Henry Miller. Miller gets the breaks although he seems to no longer need them. well. anyhow, I will ship you a record when it comes out. but right now, there’s the work and pleasure and dream of
doing it
. damn, I keep pulling back the curtain everytime a woman walks by. they think I am nuts. they must have stuffed a lot of cabbage into me in the hospital. these gals all dressed in their bright colors as I sit here in the kitchen on my sore ass (had operation on my poor ass) and drink coffee and write you. well, anyhow, it is Los Angeles and I sit in the middle of it. tenderly, I sit. and now the tapes, the tapes! onward! ya.

loooove,