deepundergroundpoetry.com
Friday Afternoon at Home
if you're interested in
the permutations of being drunk
or horny
or drunk AND horny
and how cunnilingus
and/or fellatio
sit on either side of
dionysus then
it ain't me,
bobby dee.
.
go elsewhere
if you like to hear
the word fuck inserted
into every aural cavity on
the planet
line up,
take a number
muthafukkah
and have at it
the doctor is in.
but if you are
beyond that
or older than the half-
life of uranium two-fucking-
thirty-five or
in my case
277 days shy
of the big eight-oh
and no longer give
a shit
about any of that
you should probably
hang out at
chez moi where
i do have an extra
chair with fiberglass straps in lieu
of seat cushion so bring
your iron butt
along, which, btw,
i have utterly no
interest in
and we can watch
the ladies of
the view
mirror our outrage re
the latest manifestation of
the orange antichrist
and I will mutter
look at that stupid
fuck
and you will predictably say
what a stupid fuck
and i will say
fuck you
i just fucking
said that
and sooner or
later i will say
I kinda miss
bukowski
and you will say
yeah
me too
before reaching out
to change
the channel.
the permutations of being drunk
or horny
or drunk AND horny
and how cunnilingus
and/or fellatio
sit on either side of
dionysus then
it ain't me,
bobby dee.
.
go elsewhere
if you like to hear
the word fuck inserted
into every aural cavity on
the planet
line up,
take a number
muthafukkah
and have at it
the doctor is in.
but if you are
beyond that
or older than the half-
life of uranium two-fucking-
thirty-five or
in my case
277 days shy
of the big eight-oh
and no longer give
a shit
about any of that
you should probably
hang out at
chez moi where
i do have an extra
chair with fiberglass straps in lieu
of seat cushion so bring
your iron butt
along, which, btw,
i have utterly no
interest in
and we can watch
the ladies of
the view
mirror our outrage re
the latest manifestation of
the orange antichrist
and I will mutter
look at that stupid
fuck
and you will predictably say
what a stupid fuck
and i will say
fuck you
i just fucking
said that
and sooner or
later i will say
I kinda miss
bukowski
and you will say
yeah
me too
before reaching out
to change
the channel.
Published 12th Jan 2024
| Edited 13th Jan 2024
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7
reading list entries 4
comments 13
reads 159
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
12th Jan 2024 8:29pm
I’m sure you’re in no need of my opinion, and though my ass ain’t iron I’ll park it just long enough to say I really enjoyed your poem. I’ll leave you with a “see ya muthafucka” and have an awesome weekend!! Peace!
13th Jan 2024 1:12am
13th Jan 2024 1:15am
13th Jan 2024 9:32pm
I’m not a dude, but I’d join you any day, my friend. I’ve been known to throw down a few cuss words, lol….
13th Jan 2024 11:09pm
13th Jan 2024 10:04pm
I fucking love your style, and I also like pussy and beer so we can totally be friends.
You write the way we're supposed to write.
Your form suspends all ego with the removal of capital letters, demoting even the god of drinking and fucking to the status of mere mortal on a Friday afternoon. I think ee cummings did that really well, and you have it here too.
I love Buk as much as everyone else, but he's used as a talisman for the poorly read. If they read two poems about fucking and writing, they think they're deep. So I roll my eyes a little at Bukowski references... except here. You actually narrate like Bukowski. You've probably bookmarked a few pages in a few books because there was something haunting.
Your tone, texture and style is nouveau-vintage. It's classic free-form, but the emotion is new.
This was sexy, salty, had some apathy and sarcasm and a lot of wistful hope.
Kickass, my friend. Really kickass
You write the way we're supposed to write.
Your form suspends all ego with the removal of capital letters, demoting even the god of drinking and fucking to the status of mere mortal on a Friday afternoon. I think ee cummings did that really well, and you have it here too.
I love Buk as much as everyone else, but he's used as a talisman for the poorly read. If they read two poems about fucking and writing, they think they're deep. So I roll my eyes a little at Bukowski references... except here. You actually narrate like Bukowski. You've probably bookmarked a few pages in a few books because there was something haunting.
Your tone, texture and style is nouveau-vintage. It's classic free-form, but the emotion is new.
This was sexy, salty, had some apathy and sarcasm and a lot of wistful hope.
Kickass, my friend. Really kickass
My friend Cait, the divine MsAllThat, used to fly cross country once a year to visit Linda, Buk's wife, and get drunk out at his grave. She sent me one of his poetry books and unfortunately died of breast cancer while I was in the joint. She said, "When you get outta that clip joint, we'll meet up in Mexico and I'll fuck your brains out."
Then there was a g/f of mine from back in the '80s who had a g/f from Yokohama who flew to California just to fuck the old guy. So, yeah, I kinda have a special relationship with Bukowski and yeah I totally get what you're saying.
I think of Cait every day. I still have that book of Buk's she sent. I still have a bruised heart from everywhere her poetry touched it, which was all over.
You remind me of her. I have no higher compliment. Thanks for stopping by. I actually wrote that one inspired by you after you knocked me bumfuk over tea kettle yesterday with your out of this fucking cosmos poetry.
You are one of the most talented I've ever come across. Don't let it go to your head. A little lower would be fine, though.
xoxo
Then there was a g/f of mine from back in the '80s who had a g/f from Yokohama who flew to California just to fuck the old guy. So, yeah, I kinda have a special relationship with Bukowski and yeah I totally get what you're saying.
I think of Cait every day. I still have that book of Buk's she sent. I still have a bruised heart from everywhere her poetry touched it, which was all over.
You remind me of her. I have no higher compliment. Thanks for stopping by. I actually wrote that one inspired by you after you knocked me bumfuk over tea kettle yesterday with your out of this fucking cosmos poetry.
You are one of the most talented I've ever come across. Don't let it go to your head. A little lower would be fine, though.
xoxo
Motherfucker. I'm between muses and I'm one glass of wine away from asking your hot-ass self to be the next placeholder in the Story of Dickheads.
You fucked a woman who fucked Bukowski? That's like, the coolest sloppy seconds on the fucking earth.
You. Are. The. Man.
Seriously. I need to know everything about you. You became the hottest bitch in the club, by being the most interesting.
Thank you for the compliment. I honor it. I really do.
Be well my friend. Stop by and break my heart some day.
XO
You fucked a woman who fucked Bukowski? That's like, the coolest sloppy seconds on the fucking earth.
You. Are. The. Man.
Seriously. I need to know everything about you. You became the hottest bitch in the club, by being the most interesting.
Thank you for the compliment. I honor it. I really do.
Be well my friend. Stop by and break my heart some day.
XO
Laughing.
I lived in Honolulu for twenty-some years and did have a one-nighter with Agatha from Magnum P.I. She was just as ditzy off screen as she was on, but a dear, sweet woman. She died while I was on the mainland. Her apartment was filled with old scripts from Magnum. We lived in the same neighborhood and I would run into her at the grocery store or on the street and one day she just came home with me and one thing led to another. I think I was her last lover. Somehow I find that sad because she was so lonely after the series ended, and I knew it just wasn't going to work.
Japanese Suzie, my used-to-be didn't get down with Bukowski, but her friend ,who was obsessed with him, did. So I was another degree of separation removed from that whole situation. Sloppy thirds or something.
Here's a couple of interesting facts: my father was one of the first commandos in the U.S. military, the Marine Corps. He was honored at the white house along with his unit for bravery, purple heart. His unit popularized "Gung Ho!" and is legendary in the Corps. He was on his way to D.C. to meet with FDR when he met my 16 y/o mother on a bus, got off with her, and...well, here I am. I only discovered his name in 2019 when I took a DNA test. Turns out my grandfather taught at Ole Miss, invented that little knob on washing machines you turn a couple of ways then pull. The whole family was wealthy, servants, all that bourgie shit. Meanwhile, we were on welfare and was the family who got the canned goods at Christmas. Lots of rage internalized. I have one uncle left, my father's younger brother. Both my brothers are dead, one by suicide and the other due to an EPA clean-up he was supervising.
What can I say. I live in a tiny house now in Indiana, I rarely get out, and my social life is non-existent. But I am at peace. I doubt I'll ever be an A-list poet, but I know I have grown as a writer over the past couple of years and am greatly enjoying myself.
And I have been with many beautiful women. One of my lover's sister was married to that guy who wrote "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues." Guess I'm sort of a sexual zelig, at least in my younger days
So...cheers. My poetry is mild, compared to yours, but I am still in the process of finding my voice, whatever that means. You've already found yours and I find that absolutely delightful. I've been into the Goddess since February of 1979 when she came to me in a skid row hotel room on the edge of Chinatown in Vancouver, BC. Her presence was overwhelming and I felt emboldened to ask for a "sign." Walked out that morning and found a bag with $499 inside, flew back to Honolulu, met an Okinawa woman who changed the trajectory of my life, and have been with the Divine Goddess ever since. My kind of Higher Power, right?
I am a low-grade intellectual, a low-grade genius according to all the tests but am perfectly comfortable with what I have.
Am convinced the patriarchy is killing us.
Hey, enough of this. Thanks for asking. Let me hear from you via message any old time you wanna piss and moan. Meanwhile, I hope you go ahead and publish. My ex has read some of your stuff and she's just blown away. We all are. A talent such as yours is a rarity. More, dammit. As Frank O'Hara wrote of Lana Turner, "oh Lana Turner we love you get up"
Get up, you absolute demon-thang. Set the world on fire. We love you.
xoxo
I lived in Honolulu for twenty-some years and did have a one-nighter with Agatha from Magnum P.I. She was just as ditzy off screen as she was on, but a dear, sweet woman. She died while I was on the mainland. Her apartment was filled with old scripts from Magnum. We lived in the same neighborhood and I would run into her at the grocery store or on the street and one day she just came home with me and one thing led to another. I think I was her last lover. Somehow I find that sad because she was so lonely after the series ended, and I knew it just wasn't going to work.
Japanese Suzie, my used-to-be didn't get down with Bukowski, but her friend ,who was obsessed with him, did. So I was another degree of separation removed from that whole situation. Sloppy thirds or something.
Here's a couple of interesting facts: my father was one of the first commandos in the U.S. military, the Marine Corps. He was honored at the white house along with his unit for bravery, purple heart. His unit popularized "Gung Ho!" and is legendary in the Corps. He was on his way to D.C. to meet with FDR when he met my 16 y/o mother on a bus, got off with her, and...well, here I am. I only discovered his name in 2019 when I took a DNA test. Turns out my grandfather taught at Ole Miss, invented that little knob on washing machines you turn a couple of ways then pull. The whole family was wealthy, servants, all that bourgie shit. Meanwhile, we were on welfare and was the family who got the canned goods at Christmas. Lots of rage internalized. I have one uncle left, my father's younger brother. Both my brothers are dead, one by suicide and the other due to an EPA clean-up he was supervising.
What can I say. I live in a tiny house now in Indiana, I rarely get out, and my social life is non-existent. But I am at peace. I doubt I'll ever be an A-list poet, but I know I have grown as a writer over the past couple of years and am greatly enjoying myself.
And I have been with many beautiful women. One of my lover's sister was married to that guy who wrote "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues." Guess I'm sort of a sexual zelig, at least in my younger days
So...cheers. My poetry is mild, compared to yours, but I am still in the process of finding my voice, whatever that means. You've already found yours and I find that absolutely delightful. I've been into the Goddess since February of 1979 when she came to me in a skid row hotel room on the edge of Chinatown in Vancouver, BC. Her presence was overwhelming and I felt emboldened to ask for a "sign." Walked out that morning and found a bag with $499 inside, flew back to Honolulu, met an Okinawa woman who changed the trajectory of my life, and have been with the Divine Goddess ever since. My kind of Higher Power, right?
I am a low-grade intellectual, a low-grade genius according to all the tests but am perfectly comfortable with what I have.
Am convinced the patriarchy is killing us.
Hey, enough of this. Thanks for asking. Let me hear from you via message any old time you wanna piss and moan. Meanwhile, I hope you go ahead and publish. My ex has read some of your stuff and she's just blown away. We all are. A talent such as yours is a rarity. More, dammit. As Frank O'Hara wrote of Lana Turner, "oh Lana Turner we love you get up"
Get up, you absolute demon-thang. Set the world on fire. We love you.
xoxo
OMG, I'm officially a groupie. WHERE ARE THESE POEMS?! The haze of it all has to be fucking grand, and I'm here for that.
People are sick of my life story. It's so pathetic that like, even Hallmark blanches. I won't fill your inbox with that.
People are sick of my life story. It's so pathetic that like, even Hallmark blanches. I won't fill your inbox with that.
14th Jan 2024 12:17pm
This is how I picture my best friend and I when we're cranky old ladies (that day is roaring up quickly!). We've been pals since we were 4 years old... live across the country from each other now, but I can just see us, sitting in amicable mostly-silence, watching the dumbfuckery of the world go by, with no need or desire to change it...
I enjoyed this. It moves at just the right pace. I'd gladly sit in your shitty chair on a Friday afternoon.
❤️k
I enjoyed this. It moves at just the right pace. I'd gladly sit in your shitty chair on a Friday afternoon.
❤️k
14th Jan 2024 5:30pm
Dumbfuckery. Gawd, love that. Especially the little red squiggle that underlines the, "You sure about this?" Yep The Dumbfuckery of it All. Title of a future poem.
Thank you for your comment. It is 4 degrees outside and I sit here too close to an electric heater which ls bravely battling the chill in the room and my cat goddess Bastet wouldn't even go out this morning. Your comment is a warm fuzzy blanket for my bony old knees.
Yeah. When you're old and living this thing out, raise a glass to my memory. I think I got maybe three or four years left if Covid doesn't get me. Or any of the other horde surrounding the moat of my tiny house.
Thank you for your comment. It is 4 degrees outside and I sit here too close to an electric heater which ls bravely battling the chill in the room and my cat goddess Bastet wouldn't even go out this morning. Your comment is a warm fuzzy blanket for my bony old knees.
Yeah. When you're old and living this thing out, raise a glass to my memory. I think I got maybe three or four years left if Covid doesn't get me. Or any of the other horde surrounding the moat of my tiny house.
