November 5th, 2016

the holy King

It is in the death flow 2:57 PM Saturday afternoon. The sun is shining this afternoon.

I am tired as usual. I need a pick me up super bad. I need a shock to my system.

I got up this morning around 7:45 AM. I got up made a pot of coffee and ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast. After breakfast I messed with our main computer. After messing with our main computer I wrote in my paper diary. I left for the library early to volunteer at the library used books store around 9:15 AM. There was going to be a political event downtown this morning so I left early to make sure I got a parking space at the library. When I got to the library there was plenty of parking but I could see a mob off in the distance at the political event. So I was at the library used books store almost four hours today. The book nook was quiet so I read and wandered the store till my replacement came. So has gone by existence today thus far.

I read at the book nook my new books, "The Book of Isaiah and God's kingdom: a thematic-theological approach" by Andrew T. Abernethy and "Romans 9-16" New Testament VIII Reformation Commentary On Scripture. I brought home from the library these used books to add to our library-

"My Name Is Lucy Barton" a novel by Elizabeth Strout

"Art of the 20th Century" Two Volumes Edited by Ingo F. Walther

"Ten Lives Of The Buddha Siamese Temple Painting And Jataka Tales" By Elizabeth Wray, Clare Rossenfield, And Dorothy Bailey With Photographs By Joe D. Wray.

This afternoon nothing came in the mail to raise the Dead.

I do not remember much about last night. I suppose I will close to listen to Death Metal and maybe watch some college football.
  • Current Music
    Ulcerate 'Shrines of Paralysis'

so you want to be a writer? a poem by Charles Bukowski

so you want to be a writer? a poem by Charles Bukowski, 1920 - 1994

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.

if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don’t do it.

if you’re doing it for money or
don’t do it.

if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.

if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.

if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.

if you’re trying to write like somebody
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-

the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.

unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.

unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.
and there never was.

From sifting through the madness for the Word, the line, the way by Charles Bukowski. Copyright © 2003 by the Estate of Charles Bukowski. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins. All rights reserved.
  • Current Mood
    contemplative contemplative