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

swayed with his fame and his fortune, you can float him down the river with
the turds.
Each new line is a beginning and has nothing to do with any lines which
preceeded it. We all start new each time. And, of course, it isn't all that
holy either. The world can live much easier without writing than without
plumbing. And some places in the world have very little of either. Of
course, I'd rather live without plumbing but I'm sick.
There's nothing to stop a man from writing unless that man stops
himself. If a man truly desires to write, then he will. Rejection and
ridicule will only strengthen him. And the longer he is held back the
stronger he will become, like a mass of rising water against a dam. There is
no losing in writing, it will make your toes laugh as you sleep, it will
make you stride like a tiger, it will fire the eye and put you face to face
with Death. You will die a fighter, you will be honored in hell. The luck of
the word. Go with it, send it. Be the Clown in the Darkness. It's funny.
It's funny. One more new line...

9/26/91 11:36 PM
A tittle for the new book. Sat out at the track trying to think of one.
That's one place where one can't think. It sucks the brains and spirit out
of you. A draining blow job, that's what that place is. And I haven't been
sleeping nights. Something is sapping the energy out of me.
Saw the lonely one at the track today. "How ya doin' Charles?" "O.k.,"
I told him, then drifted off. He wants camaraderie. He wants to talk about
things. Horses. You don't talk about horses. That's the LAST thing you talk
about. A few races went by and then I caught him looking at me over an
automatic betting machine. Poor guy. I went outside and sat down and a cop
started talking to me. Well, they call them security men. "They're moving
the toteboard," he said. "Yes," I said. They had dug the thing out of the
ground and were moving it further west. Well, it put men to work. I liked to
see men working. I hand an idea that the security man was talking to me to
find out if I was crazy or not. He probably wasn't But I got the idea. I let
ideas jump me like that. I scratched my belly and pretended that I was a
good old guy. "They're going to put the lakes back in," I said. "Yeah," he
said. "This place used to be called the Track of the Lakes and Flowers." "Is
that so?" he said. "Yeah," I told him, "they used to have a Goose Girl
contest. They'd choose a goose girl and she went out in a boat and rowed
around among the geese. Real boring job." "Yeah," said the cop. He just
stood there. I stood up. "Well," I said, "I'm going to get a coffee. Take it
easy." "Sure," he said, "pick some winners." "You too, man," I said. Then I
walked away.
A title. My mind was blank. It was getting chilly. Being on old fart, I
thought it might be best to get my jacket. I took the escalator down from
the 4th floor. Who invented the escalator? Moving steps. Now, talk about
crazy. People going up and down escalators, elevators, driving cars, having
garage door that open at the touch of a button. Then they go to health clubs
to work the fat off. In 4,000 years we won't have any legs, we'll wiggle
along on our assholes, or maybe we'll just roll along like tumbleweeds. Each
species destroys itself. What killed the dinosaurs was that they ate
everything around and the had to eat each other and that brought it down to