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felodese:

Charles Bukowski - The Suicide Kid, from Slouching Toward Nirvana
I went to the worst of barshoping to getkilled.but all I could do was toget drunkagain.worse, the bar patrons evenended upliking me.there I was trying to getpushed over the darkedgeand I ended up withfree drinkswhile somewhere elsesome poorson-of-a-bitch was in a hospitalbed,tubes sticking out all overhimas he fought like hellto live.nobody would help medie asthe drinks keptcoming,as the next daywaited for mewith its steel clamps,its stinkinganonymity,its incogitantattitude.death doesn’t alwayscome runningwhen you callit,not even if youcall itfrom a shiningcastleor from an ocean lineror from the best baron earth (or theworst).such impertinenceonly makes the godshesitate anddelay.ask me: I’m72.

felodese:

Charles Bukowski - The Suicide Kid, from Slouching Toward Nirvana

I went to the worst of bars
hoping to get
killed.
but all I could do was to
get drunk
again.
worse, the bar patrons even
ended up
liking me.
there I was trying to get
pushed over the dark
edge
and I ended up with
free drinks
while somewhere else
some poor
son-of-a-bitch was in a hospital
bed,
tubes sticking out all over
him
as he fought like hell
to live.
nobody would help me
die as
the drinks kept
coming,
as the next day
waited for me
with its steel clamps,
its stinking
anonymity,
its incogitant
attitude.
death doesn’t always
come running
when you call
it,
not even if you
call it
from a shining
castle
or from an ocean liner
or from the best bar
on earth (or the
worst).
such impertinence
only makes the gods
hesitate and
delay.
ask me: I’m
72.