We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.”
The Sandy Tongue speaks
Something that has always intrigued me about brilliant people is that often their quotes can transcend time and remain applicable to society no matter what the era. Like many people, I’m a fan of Bukowski and the quote above is a perfect illustration of transcending time.
The other night I went to dinner at a local sports bar with my wife and two of our children. While sitting at the table, I watched my daughters incessantly texting and checking their Facebook accounts. Then I realized my wife and I were also entranced by our IPhones. I looked around at the rest of the people in the restaurant and same exact scene; even the elderly were electronically engaged.
I then looked around the restaurant and couldn’t decide which of the 100 televisions to gaze at. SENSORY OVERLOAD. We all took about a 10 second break to order our drinks and meals, then right back to our electronics. Holy Shit, what has happened?
“We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.” Brilliant Mr. Bukowski, pure brilliance. In the time span of one dinner sitting, I was literally eaten up by nothing. I was consumed by everything unimportant, by everything that really doesn’t mean shit in the grand scheme of life. A 100 televisions all blabbering about nothing, absolutely nothing. Status updates, checking in and texts about absolutely nothing.
I understand that I am part of the problem. Instant gratification is intoxicating and I love it. I love to get an email that tells me the exact moment when someone likes or comments on one of my posts. I can’t get enough of it. I enjoy being loved and appreciated just like the next wandering fool looking for an audience.
Life has always been a circus, but right now that circus is delivered to individuals instantly into the palm of their hand. I know what the Kardashians shit smells like before it falls out of their powdered assholes. I know about a politician’s dirty secret before he fucks the intern. I know about the wardrobe malfunction before the nipple is exposed.
We all are going to die and it should make us love each other, but guess what? It doesn’t. Most of us are so consumed and blinded by trivialities and nothingness that we can’t see through the fog. We can’t see what’s actually real in this world. And this my friend, is why Bukowski was a genius and why China will probably win.
We are drunk from our sadistic need to know everything about everyone instantly. And we will pay the price. I think Bukowski was on to something. Get drunk, write, fuck, repeat. What else is there really?
Big Sexy aka TheSandyTongue
MrMary Takes the Mic
It would be erroneous to think that the displays of heightened sagacity from which we have derived the taxonomic appellation for our species (Homo sapiens sapiens) is not only holistically capable of the fullest articulation in each of us by virtue of our birth. Logically only something living can die, but what of someone imprisoned in the depth of a captivating somnolence where the appearance of living supplants in believability the actual experience of living
Very rarely has this ironic juxtaposition between the siren call of torpor and the ribald call of living been captured than in the following lines of T. Eliot’s Love of J Alfred Prufrock:
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
What is that overwhelming question ?
It is simply ‘Do you want to live?’ Living however means more than watching TV screens ad nausea, it mean more than handing over the reins of our sense, reason and what some would call our élan, our génie to whatever or whomever can make us dive deeper into our collective ‘sleep’.
But it goes deeper than just reducing our dependency for gadgets and other non- necessary paraphernalia. There is something we all have to (myself included) make peace with to wake up, and that is that life is just life. It is harsh to everyone: money, religion, mystical experience, water-based lubcricant, boner medicines from Sweden, the combo of bathroom stalls irreverent fucking and an 8-balls do not ease the pain of coming to terms with life, it’s beginning middle and end.
I wonder if we can accept life as it is, in order to see what lies beyond our psychological projections, fears and that uneasy feeling you have right now in the pit of your stomach.
By the way if you turn around now you just may find 2 boots broken off in yo ass.
-MrMary’s Real Name
- Bluebird – Charles Bukowski (pdalbury.wordpress.com)
- Charles Bukowski on What Love Is (brainpickings.org)
- Bukowski’s “The Blue Bird,” Beautifully Animated (brainpickings.org)
- Charles Bukowski: ‘I drink, I gamble, I write…’ the making of ‘Barfly’ (dangerousminds.net)