They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
Philip Larkin
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16 comments:
Sounds a lot like poetry that the self-described degenerate Bukowski would puke out.
Master Bukowski a degenerate? Watch you language, mister!
Shorter, but not as funny.
you mean you don't beat women? what's the matter with you?
Bukowski is dead. He beats no more.
bukowski not dead
No deader than when he was writing, I agree. But beastly rotten by now.
barbarians
Correct, I don't speak Greek.
huh?
Etym.
If I ever visit Bukowski's grave, I'm gonna pee on it.
Pee on his grave, Pepe. Embrace Post-Modernity. Celebrate Bukowski's life. Just pee on his grave. I'm applying for humanities funding to sponser a mass pissing. We're gonna bus 'em in from all over.
Note how Pepe does have Religion in that he worships Bukowski and other "sophisticated" poets. Born Again, Pepe. Born Again.
You're right - buko would probably have taken this as a compliment.
There you go. That's the spirit. Besides, I read in an old army survival guide that fresh piss is sterile.
On the way, we'll swing by Woody Creek and give the Good Doctor a couple salutory blasts in the air with the shot-gun.
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