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Charles Bukowski journey to the end

there is this fellow in the Netherlands who sends
me photos of Celine and boxes of marvelous
cigars.
well, I am a dog: I enjoy both.
the cigars go well with my red wine and I never tire of
Celine or his photos—a very good face on that fellow
Louis Ferdinand Destouches.
(we have some famous modern writers whose faces look like
the inside of bedpans and they write the same way.)

I like my nights with Celine’s photos,
classical music, cigars, red wine and the
computer.

Celine watches over me as I drink, type, listen to music
and smoke the cigars; we have a great time together as
other people are bowling, sleeping, watching tv, arguing,
screwing, eating, doing all those
dumb things and others.

and now here
the words fly like crazy sparrows in a storm, Shostakovich
bellows from the radio, as the cigar smoke whirls to the left and
out
the door and into a night as dark as red wine.

hello Celine … Celine … you dog … we endure the pain
of centuries … but we can laugh … sometimes. here
among your photos the
dark luck is good.

From “Bone Palace Ballet”

HERE the Italian version

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