"An ever-intriguing writer."
"A genuine talent."



Some Of The Very Best S-E-X That I Ever Did Have

Some of the best S-E-X I ever had
came as a direct result of reading Bukowski.
She sat on the unmade bed
in the corner of the bedroom, and read aloud to me
from the pages of Hank's third published novel (1978).
It was a Friday afternoon, and that's what got it all started.
That’s what got the juices a-bubbling.
Boy, it’s hard to beat a spot of afternoon S-E-X.
I find myself growing to love Bukowski
more and more with every passing year.
I find myself seduced tirelessly
by The Old Sot’s genuine self-loathing
and his weary disdain for his fellow man.
And I have nothing but admiration for his
constant striving for purity-of-expression upon the blank page.
I’ve had S-E-X whilst on prozac. And the S-E-X was good.
I’ve had S-E-X whilst on psilocybian mushrooms.
And it was good S-E-X.
Really good S-E-X.
Some of the very best.
But only once have I had S-E-X fueled by
the words and the grammar and the sentence structure
of a pock-marked 71-year-old drunk from Andernach in Germany.
Rest in Peace Chinaski.



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