Is it possible that an unresponsive god used Bukowski as a lighthouse of awareness?
That with our free will we create our own joy or misery?
That we are the ones with the power to clean this mess up?
What my life has taught me, and what I hear God whispering in my ear, is that I am 100% responsible for my own thoughts and actions. That if I “be the good” I want to see in this world, I am operating within my locus of control and sphere of influence.
What if we are not here to fix the world? What if the world exists to fix me?
What if I’m already aware and depressed and this merely darkens my mood? But, you are right. It is my responsibility to orbit the only sphere where I have influence: the rotating bodies of “my own thoughts and actions.”
I can only speak from my own experience… I had to stop feeding my “dark” wolf and start feeding my “light” wolf with beauty, gratitude, learning, and wonder. No small task.
I’ve recently learned that there is neuroscience to support this shift. We prime our brains to perceive through the emotional stimulus we expose it to. As the state of our world suggests, in our fear and lack of hope, we serve ourselves a steady diet of “dark wolf” kibble.
Can I add... that my "light wolf" has also gotten me into trouble? 😂
My early life taught me: be nice, don't make waves, go along to get along, be grateful for what you have. In their extreme, those traits kept me small and boundary-less --- which opened the door for others to take advantage, whether they intended to or not. This was a shirking of my responsibility as well.
It's a balancing act... this being human business! And the ground is constantly shifting.
The way I attempt to maintain balance is through awareness -- and then embracing paradox.
Is it possible to be grateful and still work to become more? Yes!
Is it possible to be kind, yet maintain clear boundaries? Yes!
Is it possible to be quiet and still be heard? Yes!
It's all relative and to everything there is a season. When we operate systematically or with unexamined habits, we have lost contact with living.
Hey, this not only reads and sounds like a sonnet, it also has 14 lines. The thought of countering or at least responding to each of Bukowski's carefully crafted and clearly wrestled through free-verse poems with a newly kind of disciplined sonnet or other bit of poetic architecture for mouths, ears, souls, breath and pages is kinda kooky, no?
This piece and Bluebird are 2 of my favorite Bukowski poems. Have not read Born Into This in quite a few years but always found it to be powerful and prescient. An interesting juxtaposition to this piece is Brautigan's, All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace. Two very different distinct visions of the future which are eerily all too relevant today.
Bukowski! The apocalyptic undertones in this one are chilling yet oddly compelling. Some of my favorite art is that which serves as our social mirror, reflecting unvarnished truths. Somehow, within the chaos that Bukowski describes, fistfights escalating into shootings, prisons overflowing, and the masses exalting fools as wealthy idols, he manages to evoke a certain grim beauty; perhaps it’s that of the possibility we cling to, the hope of what might arise from this moment.
So relevant today and yet this was written in the early 90s. Reading it is a kind of sit back and " WOW" . Unfortunately there are so many that do not see or comprehend how we have been, and are flailing In The dark descending to depths we do not want to go. Will we find the stairs up or continue our descent into madness?
Not to ratchet up the anxiety level in your comment, dear garrick, however the pair of questioning options you end your comment with don't feel like they are coming from any kind of serene and\or cocksure core...
I have been a Huge fan of Charles Bukowski since I discovered his poetry in the Strand bookstore on 8th Street in the mid 1970s. It is perhaps one of his best babbles, rambles or rants about where we are and may become, however you might characterize it. His raw and direct use of language, reflecting how he perceived the world, was his forte. He projected a persona of being a brawling, raving drunk to engage or outrage his audience, his own form of marketing. In reality, he was much more rational and better behaved, inclined to drink good wine and listen to classical music while at the typewriter, especially toward the end of his life while he wrote this poem.
Read Philip K. Dick's take on it, "Dr. Bloodmoney," a thought provoking novel predicting what we might wake up to find one fine day after we mistakenly drop bombs on ourselves...
He always was the most prescient mother fucker. 🙌🖤
Whoa…prescient.
Is it possible that an unresponsive god used Bukowski as a lighthouse of awareness?
That with our free will we create our own joy or misery?
That we are the ones with the power to clean this mess up?
What my life has taught me, and what I hear God whispering in my ear, is that I am 100% responsible for my own thoughts and actions. That if I “be the good” I want to see in this world, I am operating within my locus of control and sphere of influence.
What if we are not here to fix the world? What if the world exists to fix me?
What if I’m already aware and depressed and this merely darkens my mood? But, you are right. It is my responsibility to orbit the only sphere where I have influence: the rotating bodies of “my own thoughts and actions.”
Love that question!
I can only speak from my own experience… I had to stop feeding my “dark” wolf and start feeding my “light” wolf with beauty, gratitude, learning, and wonder. No small task.
I’ve recently learned that there is neuroscience to support this shift. We prime our brains to perceive through the emotional stimulus we expose it to. As the state of our world suggests, in our fear and lack of hope, we serve ourselves a steady diet of “dark wolf” kibble.
You are right. This is why it is suggested that giving and feeling gratitude helps feed the “light wolf.” Thanks.
Can I add... that my "light wolf" has also gotten me into trouble? 😂
My early life taught me: be nice, don't make waves, go along to get along, be grateful for what you have. In their extreme, those traits kept me small and boundary-less --- which opened the door for others to take advantage, whether they intended to or not. This was a shirking of my responsibility as well.
It's a balancing act... this being human business! And the ground is constantly shifting.
The way I attempt to maintain balance is through awareness -- and then embracing paradox.
Is it possible to be grateful and still work to become more? Yes!
Is it possible to be kind, yet maintain clear boundaries? Yes!
Is it possible to be quiet and still be heard? Yes!
It's all relative and to everything there is a season. When we operate systematically or with unexamined habits, we have lost contact with living.
Hey, this not only reads and sounds like a sonnet, it also has 14 lines. The thought of countering or at least responding to each of Bukowski's carefully crafted and clearly wrestled through free-verse poems with a newly kind of disciplined sonnet or other bit of poetic architecture for mouths, ears, souls, breath and pages is kinda kooky, no?
Tio Mitchito
Mitch Ritter
Paradigm Sifters, Code Shifters, PsalmSong Chasers
Lay-Low Studios, Ore-Wa (Refuge of A-tone-ment Seekers)
Media Discussion List\Looksee
Hey Mitch!
I cannot even describe the rules surrounding a sonnet yet, I am tickled that I wrote a comment that sounds like one. 😊
Life is crazy, life’s a mess; sometimes a curse, sometimes a blessing.
~Shedaisy
Always delight in the unexpected.
This piece and Bluebird are 2 of my favorite Bukowski poems. Have not read Born Into This in quite a few years but always found it to be powerful and prescient. An interesting juxtaposition to this piece is Brautigan's, All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace. Two very different distinct visions of the future which are eerily all too relevant today.
beautiful, accurate, necessary .. whenever whoever sees that, it's a good place to start..
Bukowski! The apocalyptic undertones in this one are chilling yet oddly compelling. Some of my favorite art is that which serves as our social mirror, reflecting unvarnished truths. Somehow, within the chaos that Bukowski describes, fistfights escalating into shootings, prisons overflowing, and the masses exalting fools as wealthy idols, he manages to evoke a certain grim beauty; perhaps it’s that of the possibility we cling to, the hope of what might arise from this moment.
Per haps, LMS.
Perhaps....
Tio Mitchito
I agree. Humans are highly overrated. Including Bukowski. Silence, however, is indeed golden. -Dwight Lee Wolter.
A creative pastor could use this poem for a lead to a sermon.
Bukowski.
Horribly honest, written in truth of foresight. Tragically scary.
So relevant today and yet this was written in the early 90s. Reading it is a kind of sit back and " WOW" . Unfortunately there are so many that do not see or comprehend how we have been, and are flailing In The dark descending to depths we do not want to go. Will we find the stairs up or continue our descent into madness?
Not to ratchet up the anxiety level in your comment, dear garrick, however the pair of questioning options you end your comment with don't feel like they are coming from any kind of serene and\or cocksure core...
TM
Thank you
A true prophet… Bukowski was unpretentious and spoke in ways we could all understand … He was a real human being..🙏
I have been a Huge fan of Charles Bukowski since I discovered his poetry in the Strand bookstore on 8th Street in the mid 1970s. It is perhaps one of his best babbles, rambles or rants about where we are and may become, however you might characterize it. His raw and direct use of language, reflecting how he perceived the world, was his forte. He projected a persona of being a brawling, raving drunk to engage or outrage his audience, his own form of marketing. In reality, he was much more rational and better behaved, inclined to drink good wine and listen to classical music while at the typewriter, especially toward the end of his life while he wrote this poem.
my father (an earth scientist), spoke these exact words…
“ Rain will be the new gold”.
So timely it's a cold-cock punch to the face.
Makes me think of Cormac McCarthy's The Road.
Read Philip K. Dick's take on it, "Dr. Bloodmoney," a thought provoking novel predicting what we might wake up to find one fine day after we mistakenly drop bombs on ourselves...