"Чарльз Буковски. Дневник последних лет жизни (engl)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Now in my lower lip and under the lower lip, there is a large
puffiness. And I have no energy. I didn't go to the track today. I just
stayed in bed. Tired, tired. The Sunday crowds at the track are the worst. I
have problems with the human face. I find it very difficult to look at. I
find the sum total of each person's life written there and it is a horrible
sight. When one sees thousands of faces in one day, it's tiring from the top
of the head to the toes. And all through the gut. Sundays are so crowded.
It's amateur day. They scream and curse. They rage. Then they go limp and
leave, broke. What did they expect?
I had a cataract operation on my right eye a few months ago. The
operation was not nearly as simple as the misinformation I gathered from
people who claimed to have had eye operations. I heard my wife talking to
ther mother on the telephone: "You say it was over in a few minutes? And
that you drove your car home afterwards?" Another old guy told me, "Oh it's
nothing, it's over in a flash and you just go about your business as
normal." Others spoke about the operation in an off-hand manner. It was a
walk in the park. Now, I didn't ask for any of these people for information
about the operation, they just came out with it. And after a while, I began
to believe it. Although I still wonder how a thing as delicate as the eye
could be treated more or less like cutting a toenail. On my first visit to
the doctor, he examined the eye and said that I needed an operation. "O.k.,"
I said, "let's do it." "What?" he asked. "Let's do it now. Let's rock and
roll!" "Wait," he said, "first we must make an appointment with a hospital.
Then there are other preparations. First, we want to show you a movie about
the operation. It's only about 15 minutes long." "The operation?" "No, the
movies." What happens is that they take out the complete lens of the eye and
replace it with an artifical lens. The lens is stitched in and the eye must
adjust and recover. After about 3 weeks the stitches are removed. It's no
walk in the park and the operation takes much longer than "a couple of
minutes." Anyhow, after it was all over, my wife's mother said it was
probably an after-operational procedure she was thinking of. And the old
guy? I asked him, "How long did it take for your sight to really get better
after your eye operation?" "I'm not so sure I had an operation," he said.
Maybe I got this fat lip from drinking from the cat's water bowl? I feel a
little better tonight. Six days a week at the racetrack can burn anybody
out. Try is some time. Then come in and work on your novel. Or maybe death
is giving me some signs? The other day I was thinking about the world
without me. There is the world going on doing what it does. And I'm not
there. Very odd. Think of the garbage truck coming by and picking up the
garbage and I'm not there. Or the newspaper sits in the drive and I'm not
there to pick it up. Impossible. And worse, some time after I'm dead, I'm
going to be truly discovered. All those who were afraid of me or hated me
when I was alive will suddenly embrace me. My words will be everywhere.
Clubs and societies will be formed. It will be sickening. A movie will be
made of my life. I will be made a much more courageous and talented man tahn
I am. Much more. It will be enough to make the gods puke. The human race
exaggerates everything: its heroes, its enemies, its importance. The
fuckers. There, I feel better. God-damned human race. There, I feel better.
The night is cooling off. Maybe I'll pay the gas bill. I remember in south
central L.A. they shot a lady named Love for not paying her gas bill. The