the curse

you think that this whore hasn’t eaten
people up?
made them die before death?
it has killed almost all of
them,
made Tolstoy fearful toward
his wife and God,
made Henry Miller stop typing
to paint little water colors of
affections
while writing dozens of tender
love letters to
oriental women who
refused to fuck anything except
his addled
fame,
which drove Hemingway
through fear of failure
toward electroshock treatments,
which made Celine, he of the
darkest laughter of our time,
walk into the woods
tired and broken,
which chased Hamsun and Ezra
Pound like wild
dogs,
which made Ambrose Bierce
walk away forever,
which made Van Gogh
into the yellow sun of his
direct paint
tube,
and which made many more
accept their game and die
before it,
so dumb
so human
so immensely
fragile.

we are hardly ever
as strong
as that which we
create.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1990
Source
Original manuscript