blame the heat.

Its getting to us all.

please come with me Ms eek, I have a new 18000 btu air conditioner...and of course things are better when unnecessary clothing is removed...

(cough, splutter) 'uncle tutsi? why are you on the floor? are you OK?'...these Suphanburi country girls are tough and don't seem to mind the heat...and then another niece appears: 'go get some vodka quick as uncle tutsi is unwell...'

Nurse......... the screens, and morphine, quickly.

and then the depravity is too much too bear,

and then the VN bar lady stood over me in her magnificent nakedness and said: 'you know, you are some kind of weirdo...'...and this was after watching the film Casablanca together on the hotel TCM channel that she thoroughly enjoyed...and she never cared about Ingrid Bergman...she was an olive skinned Linda Fiorintino staring me right in the face with a evil smile and saying: 'you like me, don't you?...

and before that in the 80s a $200/hr escort woman laying naked next to me, lascivious and as dark as the night who I had seen a number of times said languidly: 'you want to possess me, don't you?...' and oh good god and I wanted both times to run screaming...

and I can't be blamed for minor excesses on the TV forum...oh, please Ms eek...

and then the nieces have to assist me to walk as they are aware of unrepairable emotional damage but not of the specifics...

blame the heat.

Its getting to us all.

please come with me Ms eek, I have a new 18000 btu air conditioner...

Have air conditioners taken the place of etchings nowadays then?

Or taken over pockets of candy and little fluffy puppies?

blame the heat.

Its getting to us all.

please come with me Ms eek, I have a new 18000 btu air conditioner...

Have air conditioners taken the place of etchings nowadays then?

Or taken over pockets of candy and little fluffy puppies?

get outta here, you guys, this ain't victoriana, it's brutal Bukowski LA americana where Bukowski beats up on Hemingway and then tells him to 'grow up'...

and then he sat down and poured himself a wine...and then tutsi sups his tokay and sez: 'say man, that refrain is gettin' old...' and then Buk sez: 'you got a 'time frame' in Pasadena? why don't you get fcuked?...' and then furniture is overturned and a new literary relationship is then required...which happens the next day: 'say, man...you got some dough? lets go down and get us a jug...' 'that girl wid de long legs, she be comin' around yer place sometime soon?' 'yeh and she may bring her black girl friend with her next time...' and then we leer and nod...

us alternative writers and poets in LA we gots all the time in de woild...

“Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.”

―

Charles Bukowski

and then, tutsi slouches toward Bangkok in anticipation of the soft white flesh of Ms eeks splendid thighs and then the little niece appears and takes me by the hand and sez: 'uncle tutsi, let's get some pepsi and think about roast chicken...' and although she does not have the LSD perspective tutsi demurres as it was told: 'that the little children shall lead them...'

and now, here's the grandson approaching and squealing and causing further disruption...and then the wife observes and sez dryly: 'and where do you think that you are going, tutsi?...' and then I say raggedly breathing: 'there are a pair of magnificent thighs in BKK...' and then she flashes her equipment and sez: 'better than this?' and then tutsi collapses onto the shophouse floor and breathing becomes truly difficult...

to everyone I'm sorry but the wife knows that my behavior is excessive and can't be easily anticipated but she will ensure that I get some soup and then get to bed...'and get that Hank person outta here...he's so ugly that he should be in prison...'

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/e/e2/Charles_Bukowski_smoking.jpg&imgrefurl=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Bukowski&h=190&w=220&sz=13&tbnid=y1vmm0iuvmXaCM:&tbnh=93&tbnw=108&zoom=1&docid=j24vsmntZJWspM&sa=X&ei=q8qXT-P2GMTVrQea4LizAQ&ved=0CCkQ9QEwAQ&dur=3432

and then tutsi is on the laptop and trying to mind his own business communicating with other degenerates on thaivisa and then the wife appears and sez: 'we got a grocery shop to do...' and then tutsi sez: 'I'm drunk and I can't walk...' and then the wife assesses the situation and sez calmly: 'get up ye drunk falang bastid as we got mouths to feed...' and then she makes a move to shift me as she is only 4'11'' and is as strong as an elephant and then I crawl towards the door to get in the van to go to the supermarket...

and then there is the little niece who is identical; unsmiling with hands on hips: 'uncle tutsi, yer out of cigarettes and I would like some ice cream' and then she conducts me to The Big Store about 100 meters away and uncle tutsi can't walk very well and then the chinese check out woman assesses the situation and smiles warily...and then the niece finishes her ice cream and then falls asleep next to me and then I wonder what all the fuss was about...

Tusti maybe swap the vodka and cigs for a mars bar and a banana smoothie? The world might take on a different perspective..maybe.

Stop slobbering Tuts. It's undignified in a man as old as you...

Gentlemen of that age are allowed to be undignified Ref. Father Jack Hackett.

SC

blame the heat.

Its getting to us all.

Blame it on the beans. Blame it on the dog. Blame it on the moonlight

But please, don't strike a light

blame the heat.

Its getting to us all.

Blame it on the beans. Blame it on the dog. Blame it on the moonlight

But please, don't strike a light

Blame it on the boogie, and Tutsi has shown in this thread alone, he has boogie in abundance.

blame the heat.

Its getting to us all.

Blame it on the beans. Blame it on the dog. Blame it on the moonlight

But please, don't strike a light

Blame it on the boogie, and Tutsi has shown in this thread alone, he has boogie in abundance.

aww...it's just entertainment...

A man with boogie but in danger of losing his vodka, ciggies and his views of thighs.

Ooooh they are a mean sex.

This poem holds all and sundry .

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Edward FitzGerald's Translation.

1

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night

Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:

And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught

The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.

2

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky

I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,

"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup

"Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."

3

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before

The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!

"You know how little while we have to stay,

"And, once departed, may return no more."

4

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,

The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,

Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough

Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

*****

5

Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,

And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;

But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,

And still a Garden by the Water blows.

6

And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine

High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!

"Red Wine!"---the Nightingale cries to the Rose

That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.

7

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring

The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way

To fly---and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

8

And look---a thousand Blossoms with the Day

Woke---and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:

And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose

Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

*****

9

But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot

Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot!

Let Rustum lay about him as he will,

Or Hatim Tai cry Supper---heed them not.

10

With me along some Strip of Herbage strown

That just divides the desert from the sown,

Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,

And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.

11

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse---and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness---

And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

12

"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"---think some:

Others---"How blest the Paradise to come!"

Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;

Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!

*****

13

Look to the Rose that blows about us---"Lo,

"Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:

"At once the silken Tassel of my Purse

"Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

14

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon

Turns Ashes---or it prospers; and anon,

Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face

Lighting a little Hour or two---is gone.

15

And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,

And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,

Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd

As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

16

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai

Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,

How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp

Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.

*****

17

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep

The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep;

And Bahram, that great Hunter---the Wild Ass

Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.

18

I sometimes think that never so red

The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears

Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

19

And this delightful Herb whose tender Green

Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean---

Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows

From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

20

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears

TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears---

To-morrow?---Why, To-morrow I may be

Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

*****

21

Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best

That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,

Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,

And one by one crept silently to Rest.

22

And we, that now make merry in the Room

They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,

Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth

Descend, ourselves to make a Couch---for whom?

23

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,

Before we too into the Dust descend;

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,

Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and---sans End!

24

Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,

And those that after a TO-MORROW stare,

A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries

"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"

*****

25

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd

Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust

Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn

Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

26

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise

To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;

One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;

The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

27

Myself when young did eagerly frequent

Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument

About it and about: but evermore

Came out by the same Door as in I went.

28

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,

And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:

And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd---

"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

*****

29

Into this Universe, and why not knowing,

Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:

And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,

I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

30

What, without asking, hither hurried whence?

And, without asking, whither hurried hence!

Another and another Cup to drown

The Memory of this Impertinence!

31

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate

I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,

And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;

But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate.

32

There was a Door to which I found no Key:

There was a Veil past which I could not see:

Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE

There seemed---and then no more of THEE and ME.

*****

33

Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,

Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide

"Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"

And---"A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.

34

Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn

My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn:

And Lip to Lip it murmur'd---"While you live

"Drink!---for once dead you never shall return."

35

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive

Articulation answer'd, once did live,

And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'd

How many Kisses might it take---and give!

36

For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,

I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:

And with its all obliterated Tongue

It murmur'd---"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

*****

37

Ah, fill the Cup:---what boots it to repeat

How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:

Unborn TO-MORROW, and dead YESTERDAY,

Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!

38

One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,

One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste---

The Stars are setting and the Caravan

Starts for the Dawn of Nothing---Oh, make haste!

39

How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit

Of This and That endeavour and dispute?

Better be merry with the fruitful Grape

Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

40

You know, my Friends, how long since in my House

For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:

Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,

And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

*****

41

For "IS" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,

And "UP-AND-DOWN" without, I could define,

I yet in all I only cared to know,

Was never deep in anything but---Wine.

42

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,

Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape

Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and

He bid me taste of it; and 'twas---the Grape!

43

The Grape that can with Logic absolute

The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:

The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice

Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

44

The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,

That all the misbelieving and black Horde

Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul

Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.

*****

45

But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me

The Quarrel of the Universe let be:

And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht,

Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

46

For in and out, above, about, below,

'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,

Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,

Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

47

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,

End in the Nothing all Things end in ---Yes---

Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what

Thou shalt be---Nothing---Thou shalt not be less.

48

While the Rose blows along the River Brink,

With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink:

And when the Angel with his darker Draught

Draws up to Thee---take that, and do not shrink.

*****

49

'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days

Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:

Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,

And one by one back in the Closet lays.

50

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,

But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;

And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,

*He* knows about it all---He knows---HE knows!

51

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

52

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,

Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,

Lift not thy hands to *It* for help---for It

Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

*****

53

With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man's knead,

And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:

Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote

What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

54

I tell Thee this---When, starting from the Goal,

Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal

Of Heav'n Parvin and Mushtara they flung,

In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul

55

The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about

If clings my Being---let the Sufi flout;

Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key,

That shall unlock the Door he howls without

56

And this I know: whether the one True Light,

Kindle to Love, or Wrathconsume me quite,

One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught

Better than in the Temple lost outright.

*****

57

Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin

Beset the Road I was to wander in,

Thou wilt not with Predestination round

Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

58

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,

And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;

For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man

Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give---and take!

KUZA-NAMA ("Book of Pots.")

59

Listen again. One Evening at the Close

Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,

In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone

With the clay Population round in Rows.

60

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot

Some could articulate, while others not:

And suddenly one more impatient cried---

"Who *is* the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

*****

61

Then said another---"Surely not in vain

"My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,

"That He who subtly wrought me into Shape

"Should stamp me back to common Earth again."

62

Another said---"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy,

"Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;

"Shall He that *made* the Vessel in pure Love

"And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!"

63

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake

A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:

"They sneer at me for learning all awry;

"What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

64

Said one---"Folk of a surly Tapster tell

"And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;

"They talk of some strict Testing of us---Pish!

"He's a Good Fellow, and 't will all be well."

*****

65

Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,

"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:

"But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,

"Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!"

66

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,

One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:

And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!

"Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!"

67

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,

And wash my Body whence the Life has died,

And in the Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,

So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.

68

That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare

Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,

As not a True Believer passing by

But shall be overtaken unaware.

*****

69

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:

Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,

And sold my Reputation for a Song.

70

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before

I swore---but was I sober when I swore?

And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand

My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

71

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel

And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour---well,

I often wonder what the Vintners buy

One half so precious as the Goods they sell.

72

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!

That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!

The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,

Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

*****

73

Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire

To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,

Would not we shatter it to bits---and then

Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

74

Ah, Moon of my Delight who Know'st no wane

The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:

How oft hereafter rising shall she look

Through this same Garden after me---in vain!

75

And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass

Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,

And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot

Where I made one---turn down an empty Glass!

TAMAM SHUD (It is completed.)

And now the modified and added version which is the Text of

the Fifth Edition (1889).

1

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight

The Stars before him from the Field of Night,

Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes

The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.

*****

Edward FitzGerald's Translation.

Modified and added version which is the Text of

the Fifth Edition (1889):

2

Before the phantom of False morning died,

Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,

"When all the Temple is prepared within,

"Why nods the drowsy Worshiper outside?"

3

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before

The Tavern shouted---"Open then the Door!

"You know how little while we have to stay,

"And, once departed, may return no more."

4

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,

The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,

Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Boug

Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

5

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,

And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;

But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,

And many a Garden by the Water blows.

*****

6

And David's Lips are lockt; but in divine

High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!

"Red Wine!"---the Nightingale cries to the Rose

That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine.

7

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring

Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way

To flutter---and the Bird is on the Wing.

8

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,

Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,

The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,

The Leaves of Life keeps falling one by one.

9

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:

Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?

And this first Summer month that brings the Rose

Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

*****

Go to the Persian Archive

Return to Previous Page.

This poem holds all and sundry .

Yep, and skipped quite happily to tedious.

My Other Chinee Cook

Yes, I got another Johnny; but he was to Number One

As a Satyr to Hyperion, as a rushlight to the sun;

He was lazy, he was cheeky, he was dirty, he was sly,

But he had a single virtue, and its name was rabbit pie.

Now those who say the bush is dull are not so far astray,

For the neutral tints of station life are anything but gay;

But, with all its uneventfulness, I solemnly deny

That the bush is unendurable along with rabbit pie.

We had fixed one day to sack him, and agreed to moot the point

When my lad should bring our usual regale of cindered joint,

But instead of cindered joint we saw and smelt, my wife and I,

Such a lovely, such a beautiful, oh! such a rabbit pie!

There was quite a new expression on his lemon-coloured face,

And the unexpected odour won him temporary grace,

For we tacitly postponed the sacking-point till by-and bye,

And we tacitly said nothing save the one word, “rabbit pie!”

I had learned that pleasant mystery should simply be endured,

And forebore to ask of Johnny where the rabbits were procured!

I had learned from Number One to stand aloof from how and why,

And I threw myself upon the simple fact of rabbit pie.

And when the pie was opened, what a picture did we see!

They lay in beauty side by side, they filled our home with glee!

How excellent, how succulent, back, neck, and leg, and thigh!

What a noble gift is manhood! What a trust is rabbit pie!

For a week the thing continued, rabbit pie from day to day;

Though where he got the rabbits John would ne'er vouchsafe to say;

But we never seemed to tire of them, and daily could descry

Subtle shades of new delight in each successive rabbit pie.

Sunday came; by rabbit reckoning, the seventh day of the week;

We had dined, we sat in silence, both our hearts (?) too full to speak,

When in walks Cousin George, and, with a sniff, says he, “Oh my!

What a savoury suggestion! what a smell of rabbit pie!”

“Oh, why so late, George?” says my wife, “the rabbit pie is gone;

But you must have one for tea, though. Ring the bell, my dear, for John.”

So I rang the bell for John, to whom my wife did signify,

“Let us have an early tea, John, and another rabbit pie.”

But John seemed taken quite aback, and shook his funny head,

And uttered words I comprehended no more than the dead;

“Go, do as you are bid,” I cried, “we wait for no reply;

Go! let us have tea early, and another rabbit pie!”

Oh, that I had stopped his answer! But it came out with a run:

“Last-a week-a plenty puppy; this-a week-a puppy done!”

Just then my wife, my love, my life, the apple of mine eye,

Was seized with what seemed “mal-de-mer,” — “sick transit” rabbit pie!

And George! By George, he laughed, and then he howled like any bear!

The while my wife contorted like a mad “convulsionnaire;”

And I—I rushed on Johnny, and I smote him hip and thigh,

And I never saw him more, nor tasted more of rabbit pie.

And the childless mothers met me, as I kicked him from the door,

With loud maternal wailings and anathemas galore;

I must part with pretty Tiny, I must part with little Fly,

For I'm sure they know the story of the so-called “rabbit pie.”

James Brunton Stephens

During WWII the only umrationed meat available was locally shot rabbit.

If they were ready-skinned my mother taught me always to check the feet, to make sure it wasn;t cat.