Charles Bukowski – The man with the beautiful eyes

when we were kids

there was a strange

house

all the shades were

always

drawn

and we never heard

voices

in there

and the yard was full of

bamboo

and we liked to play in

the bamboo

pretend we were

Tarzan

(although there was no

Jane).

and there was a

fish pond

a large one

full of the

fattest goldfish

you ever saw

and they were

tame.

they came to the

surface of the water

and took pieces of

bread

from our hands.

our parents had

told us:

“never go near that

house.”

so, of course,

we went.

we wondered if anybody

lived there.

weeks went by and we

never saw

anybody.

then one day

we heard

a voice

from the house

“YOU GOD DAMNED

WHORE!”

it was a man’s

voice.

then the screen

door

of the house was

flung open

and the man

walked

out.

he was holding a

fifth of whiskey

in his right

hand.

he was about

30.

he had a cigar

in his

mouth,

needed a

shave.

his hair was

wild and

uncombed

and he was

barefoot

in undershirt

and pants.

but his eyes

were

bright.

they blazed

with brightness

and he said,

“hey little

gentlemen,

having a good

time, I

hope?”

then he gave a

little laugh

and walked

back into the

house.

we left,

went back to my

parent’s yard

and thought

about it.

our parents,

we decided

had wanted us

to stay away

from there

because they

never wanted us

to see a man

like

that,

a strong natural

man

with

beautiful

eyes.

our parents

were ashamed

that they were

not

like that

man,

that’s why they

wanted us

to stay

away.

but

we went back

to that house

and the bamboo

and the tame

goldfish.

we went back

many times

for many

weeks

but we never

saw

or heard

the man

again.

the shades were

down

as always

and it was

quiet.

then one day

as we came back from

school

we saw the

house.

it had burned

down,

there was nothing

left,

just a smoldering

twisted black

foundation

and we went to

the fish pond

and there was

no water

in it

and the fat

orange goldfish

were dead

there,

drying out.

we went back to

my parents’ yard

and talked about

it

and decided that

our parents had

burned their

house down,

had killed

them

had killed the

goldfish

because it was

all too

beautiful,

even the bamboo

forest had

burned.

they had been

afraid of

the man with the

beautiful

eyes.

and

we were afraid

then

that

all through our lives

things like that

would

happen,

that nobody

wanted

anybody

to be

strong and

beautiful

like that,

that

others would never

allow it,

and that

many people

would have to

die.

Ach ja

Wir zwaengen uns in Konventionen

Tun uns taeglich Gewalt an

Um weiter mithalten zu koennen

Leistung zu bringen drauf zu sein

Vergewaltigen uns am laufenden Band

Mit Fitnessprogrammen Hungerdiaeten

Rammen uns Schrott ins Gehirn

Bei soviel Gewalt gegen uns selbst

Eskaliert Gewaltbereitschaft

Zur Gewalt gegenueber anderen

Die noch Wehrloser sind als wir.

- Arnulf Zitelmann

Ist das Kunst?

und?

Musik

Ich glaub man merkt erst wie es einen Fehlt, wenn es nicht mehr da ist. Bis jetzt habe ich gar nicht daruber nachgedacht was Musik fur mich bedeutet. Sie war da, sie war immer da. Wenn ich abschalten will stecke ich mir die Kopfhorer rein und spiele die Musik ab. Dann kann ich nachdenken, kann in meiner eigenen Welt fluchten.

Ich glaube, dass es das ist was Musik mit dir macht. Sie ist wie eine Insel, auf der du fliehen kannst, wenn dir alles uber den Kopf wachst, wenn du keine lust hast was anderes zu horen.

Manchmal frage ich mich wie es waer, wenn ich Taub waer. Ich weiss nicht ob ich es aushalten konnte. Die Stille, sie ist erdruckend.

Ich liebe Musik. Ich hore sie den ganzen Tag lang. Uberall, egal wo. Ein Leben ohne Musik kann ich mir nicht vorstellen. Sie wurde leer und trostlos sein. Farblos. Grau. Musik ist mein Retter. Sie erfreut mich. Sie bring mich auf andere Gedanken. Sie lenkt mich ab.

Ohne Musik musste ich horen was andere Menschen sagen. Schlechte Dinge, boese Worter. Musik ubertont sie. Ich will das nicht horen. Ich will den Hass und die Bosartigkeit von anderen Menschen nicht horen. Ich will keine schwarzen Gedanken haben, wenn es so viel schones auf der Welt gibt. Musik unterstreicht das.

Musik kann mich aufmuntern, wenn ich mal schlecht drauf bin. Sie kann mich aber auch runterziehen. Das hangt ganz alleine von mir ab. Deswegen mag ich sie. Sie ist mein Freund. ICH kann bestimmen, ob sie mich aufmuntern soll oder nicht. Alles hangt von mir ab, von meiner Stimmung.

Ich beheersche sie….oder sie mich?