Dirty Old Man.

"Don't try," is written on his grave. The man of his time, this time and times to come. Pure, raw, straight to the core, sometimes deep and poetic. 

When I first met this man, I didn't expect to find what I did in his Women. At first we actually hated each other. He was just another man, writing about women, having sex with them and writing about that, drinking and fighting and writing about that...I thought he was just one more out of many, a macho-guy, who didn't care about women, about achieving something, about nothing actually, except sleeping and getting wasted. And then, a year of two later I heard someone talking about him and something whispered in  my ear: "Hey, I think you should give that Chinasky guy another chance."

And I did. And saw that I got it all wrong the first time. He has been one of my top reads ever since. And he stays on top. And I'm only writing this because today is a special day for me and I think that Hank should be part of it, although I don't think he really gave a shit about his birthday.

"Frankly, I was horrified by life, at what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep  himself clothed. So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn’t have you by the throat."

"It was true that I didn't have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so? "

So, R.I.P Bukowski.