Notes of a Dirty Old Man
San Francisco: City Lights Books, 1974. Perfect-bound illustrated wraps. Small tear on the top of the rear cover. 255 pages. Later printing. Very good.
Originally published by Essex House in 1969. For readers of unusual literature. It's Bukowski again—mad, drunk, wounded, screaming, starving, feeling it out in his rough, raw style. He was a true descendent of Antonin Artaud, Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Dostoevsky, and Robinson Jeffers. For those who prefer the fact to the fiction, here is an almost-diary of the trapped man, trapped in a society that only gives credence to the unreal and the useless. His loves and hates come out dancing, clothed in the tender humor that marks the difference between self-pity and high art. Even with the tiny tear, an unusually sound copy of this rare edition.
"I took off my clothes, got into bed in the dark, found a glass and poured the first wine. then I found why the room was so cheap. the “L” ran right past my window. and that's where the stop was. right outside my window. the whole room would be lit by the train. and I'd look at a whole trainload of faces. horrible faces: whores, orangutans, bastards, madmen, killers—all of them my masters. then, swiftly the train would start up and the room would be dark again—until the next trainload of faces, which was always too soon. I needed the wine."