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

"But, Joe, one of the main reasons I was interested at first was
because of the possibility of Harry Dane."
"We can get somebody else. I'll write you, I'll send you a list, I'm
going to work on it."
"I don't know, Joe..."
"I'll write you. And listen, I talked to the people and they said,
o.k., no laugh track. And they even said it would be o.k. to go to HBO. That
surprised me because I work for them, I don't work for HBO. Anyhow, I'll
send you a list of actors...
"All right, Joe..."
I was stuck in the web. Now I wanted out but I didn't quite know how to
tell him. It surprised me, I was usually very good at getting rid of people.
I felt guilty because he had probably put in a lot of work on the thing.
And, originally, in the first flush of things, the idea of a series based
mostly upon myself had probably appealed to my vanity. But now it didn't
seem like a good thing. I felt crappy about the whole thing.
A couple of days later the photos of the actors arrived, a mass of
them, and the preferred ones were circled. The agent's phone number was by
each actor's photo. I was sickened by looking at those faces, most of them
smiling. The faces were bland, empty, very Hollywood, quite quite
horrifying.
Along with the photos was a short note:
"... going on a 3 week vacation. When I get back I am really going to
kick this thing into gear..."
The faces did it to me. I couldn't handle it any longer. I sat down and
let go at the computers.
"...I've really been thinking about your project(s) and, frankly, I
can't do it. It would mean the end of my life as I have lived it and have
wanted to live it. It's just too big an intrusion into my existence. It
would make me very unhappy, depressed. This feeling has been gradually
coming over me but I just didn't quite know how to explain it to you. When
you and harry Dane had a falling out the other night, I felt great, I felt,
now, it's over. But you bounce right back with a new list of actors. I want
out, that sense grew stronger and stronger as things went along. Nothing
against you, you are an intellingetn young man who wants to pump some fresh
blood into the tv scene -- but let it not be mine. You may not undestand my
concern but, believe me, it's real, damned real. I should be honored that
you want to display my life to the masses but, really, I am more than
terrorized by the thought, I feel as if my very life were being threatened.
I have to get out. I haven't been able to sleep nights, I haven't been able
to think, I haven't been able to do anything.
Please, no phone calls, no letters. Nothing can change this.

The next day on the way to the racetrack I dropped the letter into the
mailbox. I felt reborn. I might still have to fight some more to get free.
But I'd go to court. Anything. Somehow, I felt sorry for Joe Singer. But,
damn it all, I was free again.
On the freeway I turned on the radion and lucked onto some Mozart. Life
could be good at times but sometimes some of that was up to us.