my father wanted me to be a mechanical draftsman

writing?   no, it’s easy.
I just sit here picking at these
scabs and blackheads until something
comes along.
when the phone rings I pick it up
and piss in it.
downstairs my girlfriend reads about
Scot and Zelda.
“we’re Scot and Zelda,” I tell
her, then she gets mad.
I get sick letters in the mail,
people want to come by and see
my advice to young writers is to stop
writing the way I do.

I mean, it won’t help.
the editors are just going to say,
“Jesus, this guy writes just like

the best thing about writing
that it will never let you down.
it may let other people down
but not you.
like you can find your wife
fucking the green giant on your
couch at 3 a.m.
and you can run upstairs and
type out a poem and get even
with both of them.

I really never liked Scot or
what they wrote down,
it was only the way they drank.
it pleases me to say anything I want
here like this.
all these scabs and blackheads were
worth it.

Charles Bukowski
Original manuscript