Bukowski and the Three Flies

From his father’s crap he falls into the bar and plops his basket down on a stool and asks for a tall Falstaff. Three flies fasten to him, ogling the brew. One runs her fingers through his thick brew and pules until he falls into her arms and she pulls him off his stout cask…

Binders Full of Women and a Pocketful of Moloch

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” Thoreau said, which is to say, most guys – their binders are empty. Bukowski explains, over at Letters of Note: the drone ant has sacrificed his life for a 401Kafkaesque letter from his Man-auger: “Sorry mate, we’ve a cutback comin’ down the line.” Bukowski lights out…

Reading Roland Barthes’s Writing Degree Zero on Line 15

What would Roland Barthes have said about the snippets of poetry published among the ad displays, public service announcements, and caution notes headlining the interior of local bus Line 15?   The poetry placards please riders through a program called, somewhat fancifully, Poetry in Motion, though the poems move relative only to someone off the…