Beerspit Night and Cursing

  Am back in office-mobile—soon I will cook lunch for the Oriental Prince. On the small swedish stove. He will have steamed rice; steamed chinese roast pork; chinese ‘tea cakes’ made of shrimp & pork & beef mixed with chop’d spices & vegetables & mushrooms & water chestnuts & rolled in rice dough & chop’d chinese mustard greens with lop chung (chinese duck sausage) cut up & steamed on top—then apricot pie with whip’d cream.

  The l’l bastid eats like a royal king.

  Thus I end this letter. I am sending out my good Jupiter rays to you & Jup will make your letters into a book that will swing—Veryl Rosenbaum is right—that’ll be a book right on time. It’s needed out there Buk—I’ll get abt 10 or more copies if it aint too high. These ruddy crudey bloody squares need YOU—

  all for now & trust all’s well there & here too

  your favorite star gazer

  Sheri

  [undated letter from SM to CB in late 1965, apparently accompanying their astrological charts]

  With me you can clearly read—The Ascendent: What I got. The Descendent: What I aint got!

  my Scorpio is my desire—to renew/to salvage—my Taurus: I have/I possess/ to earn/to own…See what you think—I’d incline to the Pisces/Virgo—but check—

  Otherwise let me know the closest hour/minute/day/month/year of the most important day of yr life—the kind you’d say: “if I’d only have done that” or “if this day had never dawned I’d never be what I am” etc—my own wd be the day I returned to E.P. Easter 1954—from that date I’d be able to sort of see—Scorpio rising wd make me find out everything there is to find out—Scorp being the natural detective of the zodiac—that’s what got E.P. in so much difficulties—

  You have a fab chart & you OWE it to us to do yr best to get us the vital statistics Buk—then I’ll read it for you—slowly as this typing machine is rough & some days I just study—if you know that most of the dough balls got their stars scattered all over the chart you’d know that you are most unusual—if you were born betw 8-10—you’d be in the natural House of Leo with yr sun in Leo & Leo is the royal vib in the zodiac! I don’t know the correct degree for Jup or Merc but you lined them up with Nept & the Sun—a decent display & good show ol’ boy—

  rush daughter’s vital statistics—

  yes—it is right to take off & rest when the body says so—we do—try to stop—at least 1 day a month—

  tell me what is your BEST HOUR through out yr life—after sun down (I was born at 3.a.m. & when ever anything spooky happens to me / it is at 3 a.m.) that cd be a clue—

  Ask yr Uncle in Andernach. You ask “what is happening” because “the people of the earth are tired of English professors because english profs touch mostly books/ live a plastic life” (art museum hogs/clogs too) E.P. “clog up the works”

  O Yeast see yrself as a kind of laxitive trying to work loose the ancient dried up shit of the dough balls clogging up the divine intestinal system of our living god—we are passing from one age to another—the old petrified turds will go & the Way will be unclog’d—work hard at it—YOU may inherit the next age—

  Yes—Blaz—he wrote—bright sound—I ordered yr book fr him—to use it to arouse interest with the few now got—who’d live through yr words—they are not going to LIVE any other way—

  HOW DARE YOU WRITE CRITICAL ARTICLES & LONG BOOK REVIEWS without letting ME read them also?

  will send this right down & send up daughter’s info immediately…yes will send art & more letter…am rush[ing] this where Andernach? what mean?

  S

  23. Dec. 65 pobx 1044 pacifica calif

  I

  didn’t

  know

  yew

  were/are

  a real

  KroutHeadttttt

  Buk!!!!!

  My FIRST!!!!!!

  officially—

  to yr letter:

  It was Gib’s comment that anyone who kept yr letters with profit as the motive showed their true lack of love for the poet—I sent Veryl photostats of the letters I made scrolls of—not to crush them—& some of the rest that were still with me—I WANT you to have that book—there are at least 10 to 20 folks that I can get interested—Never cd reach them before—but astrology seems to reach them & with the door open—one can reach them deeper—yr letters wd turn them on—

  the exhibit was a hell of a lot of work—Reid worked hard also—it got all my work to Ohio…then it was over—the work is still there—in a gallery that refuses to acknowledge my existence & no one there seems capable of returning the work to me without it costing $50. a case!!! I’ll have to go & see what the hell goes on in the square world. I’d never DO that again. Reid was great until the exhibit was over & then this “gallery” took over & who don’t know what’s jumpin’ off iz me! I’m so ruddy fed up with these americans Buk…they are grub-mutts—’m gonna turn my back to them—and vanish—

  There is some work—I had been framing for that dead-cell gallery of Reid’s but who can make love to a corpse & still be sane? I just stop’d working—but for YOU—doll—I’ll hop-to & finish framing some & send them down—you’d be amused by some of them—

  …last year—the 2nd worst to hit my little life—it turned me UP & OUT to the stars—astrology is fascinating—the best in gossip yet—being alone so long—8 hrs a day—seated in the camper—I read in this gloom & chill—only the chap who did The Children of the Ghetto—could have invented my past 7 yrs—but I did grow up—and that was a childhood aim—once you see their stars you see—

  It is beautifully noble of you—to say that the work that the Gods or Daemons do through this sufferin’ soul—is good nuff to hang up—’ taint my work Buk—it belongs to the world—Jez Chrys’ on t.v. last night—a flic on MikeAngel—they treated him worse or close tohow we iz gittin’ treated—flammm—take fire—these are the experiences of The Immortals!!

  On days when even suicide is meaningless—because of the immortal part of us (lousy joke that & rotten luck too) I open the I Ching tears pouring—raining on my face & the book—& it says sugar/sugar/sugar & I beam—when the bible aint calling me a whore of babylon—it says—“if they hate you, know that they hated me before they hated you”—these books…my pals for 7 now—

  MikeAngel’s family at him “money—we wanna go inna business” & some manic-depressive took his statue & made a cannon of it—the pope rob’d him of his hard earned $ & then threated to wash him away unless he came back—they made him paint when he wanted to pound—it was a bitch & 1/2

  and Ovid!! dear Ovid!! he sounds like Sheri Martinelli among the savages on the west coast of north america. Even Ovid wails that he’d take the easy way out but there aint no body to hip him as to whether it the final snuff or just the lousy beginning of a New Cliff Hanger—

  you are The Yeast—little one—& it’s yr dooty to take these dough balls & raise them up—you are The Chosen One O Innocent One—and you got to raise the dough…and then when we got the dough up high nuff—we all get baked into a heavenly loaf—the god sups & the Good of The Bread—enter his Divine Body & get new jobs…he shits out all the dross…to the chaos cess pool—and it all starts all over again—that’s called Rollin’ Up th Scroll. Every cell of yr body is a former friend or foe who was shit out—sent to chaos—and enters cosmos as a wee cell with a number to it—it must work for YOU—when those dough balls bug you—visualize them the size of a cell—forming a body that some one like you will come & punish the hell out of them—it is Zen/ it is Yin/ it is Yang/ it is Paradise/Purgatory/Terrestrial Paradiso all over the platz Buk—As E.P. said “a fish bowl—not flat”—it goes on all the time & all the space—I saw a hash vision of it once—if you can imagine tissue sheets hanging in close layers from one end yr room to the other—then same size tissue sheets cross sectioning the first set—and I cd see all of them at once—that was a night worth living for—

  Here’s to YOU Blythe Spirit—bird thou never wert—you came right out of—a hash
ish yurt—(try to forgive)(I can’t resist)—wdn’t it be won’r’l if the national fathers revived the old time religion—and festivals could be held yearly & we’d go THERE—and see—and then we’d sit on a mt top & try to fly high on our own hi fi—O dream—I am so bored with the dog rut sluts—

  How/where can these books of yrs be obtained??? Give me $&¢ listing also—you list:

  Cold Dogs in the Courtyard

  Crucifix in a Deathhand

  Confessions of a Man Insane Enough to Live with Beasts

  Poems Written before Fumping Out of an 8 Story Window & Atomic Scribblings

  get the nec info to me—where to purchase / how much cost—I can SELL some for you now—if they are not too much of course—I cdn’t sell The Webb—it wd prob be too much—but any of yr books that don’t cost more than $2.—I’d be able to get some sales for you—

  what is the birth hour of yr daughter? what day is Labor day? hurry—immediately get me that info—I’d have to send for a book & it will cost more after end of yr—rush info to me—she must have very different stars to be YOUR daughter—think of what you will leave this little girl—a life!! the rest will get paw’s automobile but you—Godling—have granted a small female spirit—the most precious gift—like E.P. did for Mary—his / a LIFE—not just survival—Of course you have complete communication with her—she chose YOU—for her hero—her doorway back into The Tear Factory—

  as for men & women breaking apart—not even D.P & E.P made The Scene w/out him raising a ruckus. As for me—only the direst poverty keeps me from murder or walkin’—No one can make it—maybe Jesus Christ & Mary Magdelon in the dessert—“Expect the solid from the self & the trifling from the rest & it will keep you far from Resentment”—and study astrology—inbetween—My problem has a Leo rising & his Problem has Scorpio rising—Leo is a fire sign / Scorp is a water sign—he burns me up & I sizzle him—we make Big Steam 7 yrs—it adds humour to the battle to shriek “you bloody Leo ascending” while shrieking—he mutters—

  I will send Marina Louise a work of art as her birth present—

  · 1966 ·

  6/Jan/ 66 s.m. to buk/

  Doll—Don’t answer until or unless you got time but get me yr hour

  yr bel’ bambina: Virgo in 5th House: Leo w/Aries ascendent. (cd always be incorrect because of a few degrees but fairly correct) Pluto is in Virgo: sub-conscious force. Also conscience. Also isolator of the l-in-annihilation/ chances/individuals etc. Also Plut’ rules “the dark horse”—the unknown / also rules the beginning. The genesis. This individual knew you IN the BEGINNING!!!!

  Virgo: to improve—to teach & I analyze, I discriminate.

  Leo: to release & I will, I rule.

  Aries: to breathe, to be & I am. Aries: truth/ Leo: harmony/ Virgo: discrimination.

  With Pluto in the 5th House of Leo—this 1-in-a-million child got her 1 in a million chance to be the daughter of a well-known poet who may go on to real fame. It makes her home life unusual & miraculous in ways. She is born in the maternal trinity of the zodiac—she will ‘mother’ you & others.

  Virgo is the Eternal Virgin—the 5th House of Leo refers to: romance/children/educational institutions (she came to teach & to improve—see above) pleasures/sports/speculation/creative power.

  Pluto also represents: the collective/and institutions—she may have come to teach the Collective or those in institutions.

  Virgo represents one’s work. The 5th House is Succeedent House related to the Fixed signs & relates to: stable qualities & matters connected w/inner emotion. She is born in the 5th House of Leo.

  The 6th House of Virgo: ties in w/ the “common” or mutable signs & relates to mental expression/variable conditions/ inter-communications. The personal view/interest & spiritual urges are expressed through the 1st & 5th & 9th Houses/ relates to the Fire signs/ she is in 5th H. Leo. The greatest material or objective activity goes with 2nd/6th & 10th Houses & tie in with Earth signs. she is Virgo the 6th H.

  The Fixed Signs (5th H. Leo) indicate the vices & virtues brought over from past lives. The Common or Mutable Signs (her Virgo is 6th H & one of such) relates to mental & spiritual gifts for future expansion & development. Fixed group: stability-permanence, WILL, solidity, dynamic energy. Mutables: flexibility, intellectuality, WISDOM, expansive energy. It represents spiritual persons / the soul.

  Leo is fire (a Lion)

  Virgo is earth (a Virgin)

  Aries is fire (a ram). What a trio—Aries is her ascendent—rules her physical being—is the sign of the Ram—her birth sign is Virgo—it is an earth sign—& she is born in Leo’s house—another fire sign.

  That’s it for right now Buk—you can see she came to DO something. What is her name???

  Yr Uncle prob remembers yr birth hour.

  YES of course—I want to read yr critical reviews—a small audience for yr work is slowly building through what contacts yr typist has.

  Thank you for Webb address—nice comment he made & very good of you to tell me. I can count the nice things that have been said to me or about me since E.P. sailed away on the cristoforo columbo on one hand.

  This bloody world of opposites/extremes—seems one is either NEVER left alone or left alone too much—I spend 10 hrs a day in one position—alone except for 1/2hr lunch w/him. It instructs one—I miss sun, air & exercise—but will break out first chance—for desert. Women represent the psychic force—but most are “wasted”—yes / the 7 deadlys waste them—the slave’s plight—no—Buk—no Virgo will ever yield her temple to a sailor who “never read Walter deLaMere…” cdn’t jump off…Virgo too discriminating.

  I made her a pearl charm yest[erday]/ it’ll be encl—

  YOU worry me—yr last paragraph sounds morbid—

  As to “painting”—there IS a time to fish & a time to dry the net—right now am conceiving painting seeds—they burst into the mind & one sees them—they’ll mature & break out as the queer-ducks the dough-balls call “paintings”—right now v. important for me to chew on astrology—a nat. food for my kind larva—grubbie is grubbin’ it up/

  you are being ordered to: take 4 brewer’s yeast tablets w/each can beer—plus vit. c.—one is not proscribing medicine—that’s der duckder’s jobpppp—one is talking about FOOD—you NEED it Luv—you & the beauteous young Blaz are all there is now—he has a beautiful mind that seems to be lacking in any malice—like yrsss doll baby—hop to & take brewer’s yeast—maybe not 4 w/each can beer—that was a faint joke—but at least 3 times a day take 4 / w / vit c / or rose hips—go to health food store & GET—if the customers look dingy to you imagine them w/out their food supplements!! The Law: Man is made by his own belief—the mind is everything—what you think you become—and you Krout headtttt—you are thinking of the not you—drink does not harm any / Patunjoli states that it is one way to the god state/ Appolonius of Tyana said it merely stains the soul—

  ’s o.k.—so’s all of it—some more harsh than others—let it get you high then sit back & dig the high mind—try to get there on yr own—that’s the good fight—the way—but don’t talk abt it causing you harm—it is powerless against the mind—state of health—

  behave yrself Bukowski—you & Blaz—that’s it—E.P.’s hole’d up under the Green Bay Tree—his Bramin state—Keep yr dick UP buk—it’s been some busy god-rod if we’re to believe YOUR printed word—the l’l stay at home-ers are twitching their cuntus domesticus over yr wild words—

  dawhlinkkk—the next world is a carry on of this—we got F O R E V E R to finish all we begin down here in th hell hole—this is where we come to DO…then we finish the job all over our planetary system—NOT on Mt. Shasta doll but on Pluto—or Arcturus/

  (interruption: 10/56 am—am downtown S.F.—sea gulls screaming & flying over camper…they my bird sign or one of my signs…something either v. good or v. wrong is/or will be jumpin’ orfff…11/05—now they are gone—)

  Swedenburg said that some of the paradisial spirits when they have emptied
their cosmic-bank account & must come back to work for their own good by being good for others—they weep—“oh NO, not again!!”

  Be good you GOOD stud & we’ll sit on our arses in paradise & read the stars from that end of the ’scope—we must either CHANGE the world for cosmos—or de-range it for chaos

  SM

  [followed by an elaborate handdrawn astrological chart]

  Luv oye bean in big contemplatio

  23 feb 1966

  S.M. c/o Sloan & Co #7 74 Crestwood

  Westlake Daly City Calif/

  T/Sloans real interest in Bukowski—do write & ask ’em for their slant on Bukow—Willy Sloan has inner eye set @ degree: Buk wd also SEE

  re: ‘see’—this worthless thing drew a small scroll for you & will hop it on its way to you—the encl photo is it—it is Bukowski perched high on his dangerous peak…deep pine & the round moon’s ray…whilst far below the slumbering huts & a winding stream gets crossed by a foot-path bridge…I have walked over the bridge & it is safe but not when storms cause rolling water to o’erflow bridge…& I have plucked the strings of the lute you hold & they were sweet true & the music notes are edible—& the E.P. drawing was on a letter to you—I need’d it for a while—sometimes these drawings are him & sometimes they aint/ this one is—need for the illuminations—no one can do illuminations until they are AT ONE ment…am on t/way—

  answer me Thou! & ask Willy Sloan whut’e thinks’bout yr Confessions of a Man Insane Nuff to Live w/Beasts…he got a view & Buk ought to see it—

  all for now Precious Fang&Claw…write & tell me…tell me…

  Princess RA SET over & out to Buk

  l.a. march eleven one9six6

  Sheeerriiiiieee—

  have not heard from mah German uncle, and prob. won’t now. prob. something I said in my letters either frightened or disgusted him and so it goes and so we’ll never know the hour of my birth, but guess we’ll all go on a while: Uncle, me, you.

  back from hospital last Sunday. surgery for 15 years’ or more hemorrhoids and distended intestine. sitting with very great delicacy upon these pillows as my radio finally gives me some decent symphony music (Mozart). you are lucky for me. it is a painful time, of course. I wish you could hear my monologue during bowel movements. you would have to laugh but I am in dead earnest about my cusses and pronouncements during all this…shitting. I will be unable to work for from 4 to 8 weeks, which doesn’t bother me at all. there is something wrong with me: I am never bored when I am alone; I am only bored and distressed and hammered while I am around people. take away the physical pain and this is a pretty perfect time, although I cannot sit at a typer too long. they tell me that my liver is in bad shape too. my drinking days are over—if I am able to stop, and don’t think I’ll have any trouble. it is almost a relief, it is as if I had been carrying around a heavy stone that I didn’t need to carry at all. but, hell, no regrets, even at physical breakdown—there were some wild great times, but now I pass among the tombstones and palms and look around more gently, still seeking those things which lift me, make me complete enough to gamble a bit longer. there’s still plenty left, both of me and of ways to get in and out of trouble, and still things to do like paint and sleep and listen and read and not read and not sleep and not paint, and drink water, and tangle with women, and sun gaze and change flat tires, and spit, and walk down the sidewalk being 4,000 years old; I can look at lettuce and eat it, I can write Sheri Martinelli, I can drown myself or clip my fingernails, I can look in the mirror at this crazy chopped-up face and laugh; I can do nothing with the greatest of pleasure. I am more aware now than ever of my fingers, my nose, my feet, my ears, my elbows, MY ASS!!—what strange things, eh?, goofy what? there’s plenty to go by, there’s plenty left. sailboats. rats in the halls. rats in clothing. I could run out of paper. I could run out of time. I could run out of sunlight. what I mean is, Sheri, that everything is all right. we work up and down, fall into hoary pits, shoot past angels making love; we ride tigers and are ridden by them…we are covered with shit and clouds and energy and unfolding.