out of the money… (Celine is 3 dots…)

there are these 3 jockies’ agents and a trainer whom have   gotten a
sudden interest in the written word and they have been drunk
with me at my place and they’ve asked me,
“listen, isn’t there anything to read?” and I have told them,
“well, there’s this fellow Celine, he wrote this book called
Journey to the End of Time…”

we drank that night away and a couple of nights later one of
the jock’s agents phoned me.
“listen, I can’t find this guy in any of the bookstores…”
so I told him where he might find
then met him at the track one day and asked,    “you find
and he said, “yeah.”
each time I saw him at the track after that
I asked,
“you read Celine yet?”
“no,” he’d answer.

one time he finally told me, “I couldn’t get into him, he was
too slow.”
“what?” I asked.
“yeah,” he said, “I gave the book to…”
(he named the horse trainer).
“good,” I said, “well?…”
“he said it was depressing…”
(which meant he probably passed it on the other jock’s

I played out the card and then drove on in, thinking,
they can’t be talking about Celine, not the Celine I read
that certain night in bed
after a day in the florescent lighting factory
reading Celine   for the first time there in that
laughing out loud at the crazy truth
bouncing on the springs
turning and beating the mattress with my
fists, thinking, nobody can write like
Celine, this is the beginning and the end and the
middle, this is the

I still see these fellows at the track
now and then, they are
good sorts, but
they don’t quite appear the same
to me.
we just talk about the
horses and let it go
like that…

Charles Bukowski
Original manuscript