So recently I’ve been obsessed with Charles Bukowski, simply because his words manage to take my breath away and stick in my head.

                                                        Some lose all mind and become soul; insane
                                        Some lose all soul and become mind; intellectual
                                                    Some lose both mind and sole and become  accepted.

During his youth Bukowski was shy and socially withdrawn. His father beat him three times a week from the ages of 6 to 11. He says that it helped his writing, as he came to understand undeserved pain.

The best thing (in my opinion) about Bukowski’s writing is how he can perfectly capture unexplainable emotions and frustration with his words. Past couple of weeks, I couldn’t get myself to write, and then I come upon Bukowski’s words; “Somebody at one of these places […] asked me: ‘What do you do? How do you write, create?’ You don’t, I told them. You don’t try. That’s very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It’s like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it.”

He’s a source of vivid inspiration and taught me a valuable lesson. Don’t Try.

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