some notes on the word and the way:

they’re right:   it’s been too easy writing about whores and
horses and drinking, but then I’m not trying to find god.
taking long walks lately has been pleasant and although my
desire for the female remains, I find that I needn’t go to
bed with many different ones.   riding the same mare need not
be diminishing.   and the fillies are other men’s problems.
I am often satisfied dining alone.   I now find people more
amusing than disgusting(I am weakening)and although I still
have nights of depression and days of depression the typewriter
does not seem to malfunction. readers always expect growth
but at this time just holding(the fort, haha)seem miraculous to
me.   long walks, yes.   and the ability to relax–at times–
in a decaying society might not mean that I am the victim of
a spiritual rape.   evenings behind the blinds, being neither
rich nor poor.   madness will arrive on schedule.   I don’t seek
solutions–just large spaces between not knowing and not wanting
to know.

Charles Bukowski
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: