Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Charles Bukowski On Lawns

I recently reread a collection of Charles Bukowski short stories.  I was surprised how well his work held up.  I found some comments on lawns amusing.

In "Notes Of A Potential Suicide", he writes, "all the people in Los Angeles are doing it:  running ass-wild after something that is not there.  it is basically a fear of facing one's self, it is basically a fear of being alone.  my fear is of the crowd, the ass-wild running crowd; the people who read Norman Mailer and go to baseball games and cut and water their lawns and bend over the garden with a trowel."

In "The Blanket", he writes, "Madness?  Sure.  What isn't madness?  Isn't Life madness?  We are all wound-up like toys . . . a few winds of the spring, it runs down, and that's it . . . and we walk around and presume things, make plans, elect governors, mow lawns . . . Madness, surely, what ISN'T madness?"

It appears that Bukowski perhaps regarded lawns as a waste of time.  That stance isn't too shocking coming from the bard of L.A.'s skid row, but, given the current drought, California might have been wise to listen to him.

No comments:

Post a Comment

To reduce spam, I have to approve these. On behalf of the spammers, sorry for the delay!