Don’t know if Payne is a bugger. Know he works from the outside in, and when you work from the OUTSIDE in, so hard, you are only trying to establish a beginning so you can work from the inside out, yet keeping the inside. Yet Payne senses strength, he can smell it out like a bloodhound and track it down, and yet when he gets hold of it…somehow it doesn’t affect him, it doesn’t build him, and he’s off again…with another bloodhound…trying to catch another fox.
You absorb and grow. You even absorb me, first carefully sifting out what you consider the poisons.
I can’t imagine printing sacred poetry by selling one’s ass. But Jory brought over one one night, who yes—that was exactly it. Long golden hair, talking like Oscar Wilde. Oye. And I just sat there and grunted. old man Buk.
Shed, you have 3 husbands. I am your spirit-husband and I am not jealous. That is what bothered Fry.
Speed makes the modern man more manly. It is the dragon of the times. Even I, Buk, have had my auto insurance canceled, and above-mentioned Fry once said, “As a poet, you’d make a good race driver.” And she didn’t mean this thing in New Orleans.
Heard from Jory couple of weeks back. Things are bad with him, but wives and babies meant he wanted too MUCH at once.
Glad Pan is back, sure. But…yes, I hear him on my radio now: the mosquito dance. Can you imagine the m’s dancing to Pan’s pipes, buggering each other?
Tell your 2 husbands to get drunk together and then they will either love you equally afterwards or kill each other. Hoy! I’m going.
lov,
Buk
15/dec/60 7/35 a.m. thurs./ s.m. lee pobx 46 san gregorio calif
buk/ am using old type[writer]/ excuse got no time to set up new one just for one letter but must tell you…last night as it began to rain & was delightful I walked down the path to the sacred enclosure…out in the Larches of Paradise…but they are really firs of some kind…I was chanting to the great fields full of high bush…“Pan get yr goat’s ass in out of this rain…take refuge in my temenos Pan…take refuge in the temple tonite…” & as the dark was on us…I get a bit hincty as Stanley Gould calls it & don’t like being out in the gloaming…so in I went…& about dawn this day with Gib warmin’ up the olds convertible…I went down the path to my temple & I was singing…“I am going to the Temple where the Great God Pan took refuge last night” and I knew there wd be a ‘sign’ but I didn’t really know—and I froze in the ‘doorway’ where Tree hath a long green finger which touches me…as I enter…on the forehead & dew is my holy water…my altar is an old kitchen table with a chinese covering on it of black & orange silk with tassles with gold/orange beads & silk dangling from each corner & on it is a bottle of flowers & little egyptian seals one made in clay from Gib’s Pharaoh ring with a seal saying “The Sun knows I speak the truth” or somesuch…& an olifant that I haven’t sent to Mr. Lowercase yet & my bottle of distill’d sea water & some home made candles in old artichoke heart jars…now filled with wax & a jar that formerly held some scotch lime jelly now holding some of the vine flowers & narcisses & pine & spruce branches…the altar had been moved—it had been up against the thick tree trunk & now was moved & the flowers knocked over & the candles knocked over…one candle is the red altar catholic kind…It cdn’t be the wind…because I have some chinese & some indian beads of many colours hanging from slender tree branchlets & any wind that wd be able to move the altar wd have blown off the beads…& I have a wee ivory quan yin about one inch long snug’d in the fork of the tree over the altar as Quan Yin is one of the many names of my Goddess.
Pan moved my altar—nothing was missing or broken…it was if a large goat or animal or man had climbed up the cliff & entered from beneath that branch which makes a ‘wall’ on the cliff side & moved the altar by his weight…I was mad & called Gib to see it & I told Pan wherever he is…“you did NOT have to be such a goat damm it…” and Gib just left…a while back when I started this…& as soon as he was gone down the highway…I hear that sweet seductive melodic note of music…sometimes it is 2 or 3 notes but today…this morning I heard it 3 times…one note each time…coaxing luring & plaintive & rather like a musical apology…of course a deer cd have moved it or a wild cat seeking shelter…from the rain…but only Pan can make those musical sounds that are sweet to the ear as prim roses to the eye or that tea of honey hot water & peppermint leaves or drops…is the taste buds…It is so sweet when heard that one feels the belly satisfied…as in eating but to tell the truth man I don’t wanna SEE him/ iz enough to hear him & know he is on the premises/
I got so sick of them bleeding heart white apologists saying “white” soupremecy that I finally wrote a letter to der hediterrr & told him that one is NOT “white” one IS WHITE & not about to feel any guilt for it/ the chap had said that we “white” soupremecists always feel soupreme because of something another white had done…& had no accomplishments of our own…like an ostrich looking at an eagle & saying “we birds sure can fly” so one said that it was not of the real world…not natural; moral; or ethical to make it legal to banish the song of the nightingale because the crows caw & hawk/ and one said a bit more…I am bored with it/ MOCKING MY OWN SKIN OR MY MAW OR PAW OR MY TRADITIONS & MY CULTURE OR MY RACE…DEGRADING MY RACE OR MY SEX OR COLOUR OR GOD AINT GONNA ELEVATE THE NIGGERS OR US EITHER…I told the editor to advise his niggers to read frobanius…
my good white men are driven into drink from the sheer lack of adventure & boredom of a land run by the product of the race sewer/ I know from living intimately with almost each race in the world…One has husbands all over the world’s races…and no freedom of any sort was possible until I let my temper out…& they got to love my wildness & if one said: “my what a noble cat” my chinese father in law made my life miserable that day for using a tabu word…when we are all alike…now he loves me & I can talk straight but it took 6 years/ I am not going to feel prejudiced or guilty—I am not going to allow any man to mock me…I am making my old age secure/ these animals if allowed to mock now…will be after my life when I’d be too old to fight back
so my dear Buk you may expect yr friend to be scandalised as Our Invisible Mawsters aint gonna like a slave behaving like a royal person…I have defended all my husbands of each nationality/religion/colour & race of this world…now I shall defend my self/ my husbands all being cowards who fear the censure of any other male/ I am now no longer “white” I am WHITE goddamit this snivilin sniveling over colour sickening…like a male with his dick out moaning “oh mine is too little…what’ll I do…so you cut some of yrs off…willya like a good brother?” or chicks without tits a-moan…it is unnatural not to hate wot you get born until finally you learn to love it…
now to coffee/ & love from
Sheri
16/dec/60 s.m. lee pobx 46 san gregorio calif
buk you got to know this: that fkn cat has caught onto me being an animal/ the stinking little bastard…no wonder we went inside to shit! he has dug po li & me functioning out doors same’s he does & he digs we eat meat/ now that prick actually fights with me if I am sitting on the coch coach couch…goddammit the thing with a back & pillows/ Al the cat hops up to sniff wot I got & if it smells good he tries to grab a snoutfull & when I rap his little wet nose he claws out & starts doing battle over the food/ I threw him OUT goddammit I aint gonna fight the communists the fascists the male chovanists the social stigma against cunt & the animal population also! that’d be two straws too many
he tries to sleep in po li’s sleeping bag & out in the altar bed…he raises hell to get me to bed down with him…it is horrible to have a cat in love with me & realising that I am also an animal/ no wonder our ancestors came in out of the rain to function/ or we wd lose our edge over the animal world FAST/ he has no respect for my human status/
it is an awful feeling—the animals always do that to me/ or maybe I am closer to them than the rest of us/ oye godttt wotttt/ when po li was inside ah stoods befo’ der merrrrror duckder & it wuz not empty no it warnt/ nak
ed was the blue jay & she began to wobble like she saw the arab lady do practising for when she had her po li returned…& the infant cat lying on the bed/ the awful shock of horror…looking down that little punk…he was lying on his furry back with all his legs apart and his 6 week old pink erection/ that sort of thing makes me feel totally helpless/ makes me wonder just who that cat really is/ he sure knew what to do about a naked female doing an arab dance before the mirror/
buk I am losing my humanity out here…I am returning to the animals…speak a civilised word duckder & fast as I am going down under…next thing that arrives in the mail will have horns & a tail & hooves…I told Po Li “man if you hear me sqwuakkkk out in that temple…come out fast…as Pan has been known to love the nymphs when he grabs them”…& Po Li said most seriously “yeah, but I don’t know how fast he fucks…I might be too late no matter how fast I came”…in other words he cdn’t be bothered to move if it didn’t really matter/ that man is plumb lazy
now I go/ I am going to bite a hunk off Laughlin today because when EZRA SAID she’s painting genius laughlin came in his drawers…but when ezra fell silent because he is now salty that she does the a & p instead of painting…“her job”…now L/ is silent as a corpse & I finally got a point to grab him on/ a dumb woodcut by a german boy that I wont knock down…BUT WHY IMPORT ART WHEN WE GOT OUR OWN?????? So one can kick his ass for that & one is gonna do it right now…
and so I go/ listen what happened to good mr. webb? “23 year old maniac” “torn” what do you mean? is it this race war? It is getting violent/ in d.c. one who smiles upon everybody with equal affection almost caused a riot in the drug store…because she smiled at the very black girl & the feeling was…“who the fuck do you think you are able to afford to smile at me when I don’t feel like smiling” it was so shocking I just got up & walked OUT but first I made a hex face/
it is the coal black people in ugly anger & they force the lighter people into it but the lighter people usually have white wives & my god what a mess/ a horrible mess which nevertheless cannot be outside of nature…something works thru us to effect a change/ something is rotten or fungus don’t grow on it/ & fermentation don’t take place/ I make my peace with my gods & am ready to die at each dawn or dusk & aint gonno submit to any horseshit/ Only another painting genius will know that I haven’t finished my work to my heart’s content as I work “beginning with the eyes & finished at every brush stroke” and out here in San Francisco…one day walking down calif. street in a yellow coat costing 3 bucks at a junk store & my bl. slacks from the dime store…but the cultured intelligence of my bones…& soft aristocratic hair from some ancestor…being a yankee mongrel nevertheless…and sort of jauntin’ down the street…the black man in his flash of hate for me…on calif. streeet…at noon & crowded with white slaves…he began to shout at me words more/less meaning: “oh you little society doll…you introduced bitch” one totally ignored it & then one got on the same bus with him & he’d calm’d down & he began to see the grease spots on my clothes & got a funny look to him…when he saw holes in my toes etc/ but his first impression was of vitddd soupremecy/ they are worked up to a froth & it is not a nice situation & something will shortly be done about it as when it hits our innocents at broad noon on a crowded street…it aint far off from the blow-up & oh my god…they will be so sorry for we are not the enemy…may the Gods protect our Good Clarence Major/ he is blessed—
the communists are forcing the race war to “divide” us & weaken us/ what the divine intelligence is doing I can but surmise & look to the real world/
Nature does not begin the process of decay until the tree has fallen/ Nature does not allow any order to stand that is UNnatural—the process is that the nordic or aryan appears with the Law & sets up shop/ then the softer soul’d whites show & intermarry with the delicious coloured races or sometimes a renegade nord will take a lady of colour to bed but not to wife & then the Spies of Godtttt show up because the fruit is ripe to rot then & we get the pressure of rot which makes us blow up & the nordic seed of the Law petrifies in the memory cells of the new Indians/ & we have culture preserved until a new batch of sperms arrive capable of continuing culch…The East Indians have perfectly petrified Aryan Law but they are not capable of furthering it—they preserve the seed & it will bloom again/
The question one put to the Gods/ why does all of it have to be individual? why suffering? each one hath a self & each little crab that must die knows he is dying/ that disturbs me. if it must rise & fall why must it suffer? Why is it so innocent?
re-reading/ i mean not one of those earless & sightless white slaves even heard the black man scream/ they are totally de-sensitised/ we are all alone in this concentration camp & that is what history always sez about us/ thank god we keep the traditions.
and the “doers of good are safe anywhere on earth whether they ship or swim” so hail to thee Fellow Swimmer maybe we get to Ship yet Baby/ now ah goes to work chewin’ on Laughlin/ not too hard…the poor bastard was born rich & that is a tough rap to beat/
love/
Sheri
20/dec/60 smlee pobx 46 san gregorio calif/
NO bukowski you do NOT “know my mind” & yes bukowski I DID know why you wanted to have such titles…
It is part of this brain washed age for such terms from the underworld that was “a joke to Shakespear” to have become sentimentalised & now words of “affection”…because the race that maketh the whore/the gambler/& pimp & gives birth to imbeciles & advertises them in the newspapers to raise cash…breeds them with a purpose—to fleece th’ sheep…is running the popular state…SO I AM PERFECTLY AWARE THAT YOU’D MEAN THEM AS WOIDTTTS OB AFFECTION…& I didn’t MEAN that/ what I aimed at is this:
It is the tail end of the late late victorian period & I simply wanted you to move OUT of that category & move into the NEW WORLD that cant be yawned away/ for xts sakes bukowski how many books of poetry do you imagine have passed moi eyes? & HOW many sentimental-shock-type titles do you think exist? It will be that the scholars of the future will reject any book with Little Eva & Uncle Tom (now mated) titles. Alls I wanted was for you to graduate from the Foist Gradttt & have it be seen in yr titles/ Buk really/ really…really you “wanted to give them trinkets…those are my poems” oye/ the Jews will larffff at youse/ they AINT sentimental no they AINT/ They may be passionate but they aint sentimental/ and it is downright pitiful to write poetry & lay it at the feet of whores etc/
Let them be “having a goodtttt time”/ that is why mice are mice & we are people/ because we have eternity/ but HOW do you really know WOT der mouze is thinking now buk???? (in the box)
no I mean WHERE this “wise” ending to words started?? I can understand wot it signifies but what’s its history & traditions?
good to hear that you’ll be read back east as it cant hurt them to read you re: Lit Artpress altho one don’t quite like its title/
I never die Buk because I am Spirit acting thru Matter or that Energy made by Prana/ I am of the Crystal beyond Prana & I never die; just have many names/ and Death’s a chance to catch a catnap badly needed/ the pattern is eternal & the form/ don’t worry about death because it is as sweet as a good sleep/
thankyew dear buk/ I NEEDED 3 husbands/ and splendid/ UNjealous—& spiritual/ I am only mo’ scared than the rest & needs lottsa handholdin’ in this dark/
Well am not aware of “absorbing” you but am aware of trying to show you what is clear to me & that’s all one can do from the outside is say “my brother tree that branch wobbles” to use Ezra’s word/
I know that Jory thinks it don’t matter & he gets sucked into the down dragging back wash/ & he did want too much at once/ Ezra said: “I waited until I was 40 before I began to breed” because McNaughton was breeding at 21 & still trying to write & study/
Have heard that Jory is a typical street corner male to his pitiful ol’ lady caught in the female trap of “how shall I do this dear?” Weak & fluttery & scared & Jory more so/ scowlin’ & sn
arlin’ “do it any…blather dather way you wanna” some one who’d been there & realised they were both so weak…sad/
my dear sweet “husbands”…they don’t drink…either one/ they just love SheriBoots & their mammas/
re: “first carefully sifting out wot u consider the poisons”:
“for know, my heart stands armed in my ear, And will not let a false sound enter there;”
Venus & Adonis/Shakespear
It wd seem that Shak/ familiar with same experience/ Ernie located the quote for me as is buried near last third of V & A/
And beware when you speak the name of PAN because he hath a sense of humour that surpasses even the cruelty of mankind/ and gotto print more A & P/
love/
Sheri
yr titles represent a STYLE (from late vic. period) & not a FORM!!!!!!
Dec. 21, 1960
Hoy, Shed!
am up in muck to menials, this will be short one (didn’t turn out so short—C.B. [handwritten note]) to let u know I am still Buk.
If Pan moved yr altar, I’d suggest u leave it there even if location appears out of bounds. Coulda been bum or child or ghost or drunk, but in this form too—Pan. If you see it that way, and if you see it that way, it is. We half form our god-things and our god-things half form us, and that is why it is difficult to meet, because we are in half-light and each form often almost always going in wrong direction; here you have the darkness. But when the halves meet head on—which seldom happens—then you have the vision and the miracle. Of course, we have false gods too and false god-seekers. An intoxicated young man went leaping down Hollywood Blvd. the other night playing a fife or somesuch and the fuzz threw him in. In this case, young man claimed he was Pan. Probably not so. I think I have been close enough to Pan to realize he would not dance down Hollywood Blvd. Young man was more likely a fairy an’ I don’t mean a water-sprite.
Beerspit Night and Cursing Page 12