He needed not clear his heart for he knew what was inside of it.
He needed to clear his head.
She tried to help. But
her words left only rehearsed and the meaning was not meant to be accepted.
‘If that’s what you want’, she spoke, ‘well, you can have it. I don’t want to sail against high tides or fly in a windy sky.’
And he let it all slip.
The way it never was. March 2014
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I want to wander and find my freedom again. Feel my freedom. I always had it and now when something is taking it away from me I feel trapped.
‘There’s nothing worse than an uninspired artist,’ he told me once. Live off. Live by. Live through.
‘You are over so many things,’ he declared.
‘I don’t know what am I over and who is lying under me, but this has nothing to do with pride,’ I responded. He laughed because he knew were the same.
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Artists are not born to be understood. They are born to make other people understand.
Charles Bukowski, c.1981, photo by Mark Hanauer
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