Charles Bukowski and Sheri Martinelli, �Beerspit Night and Cursing� (revisited)
Well, I�m not doing so hot on the entire plan of uploading entries. Sorry. The next old entry has images that need to be rescanned and resubmitted, so things are stalled until that happens.
That�s okay, I actually had things that I wanted to say about this book, and I skipped over it in the last entry to do an inside-joke that was probably only recognized by three people, myself being one of those people. So...
This volume came about from Bukowski submitting works of poetry to a magazine, only to have them rejected by then-editor Sheri Martinelli. But instead of just sending the standard photocopied rejection letter, she hand-wrote a response telling Bukowski what she liked and didn�t like about the then unknown writer, and made suggestions of other poets to read and emulate.
I�ve been an editor, and I know that some people don�t take criticism well. Bukowski didn�t, and shot back a letter full of piss and beer about how she didn�t have the experience to make suggestions, and also noted that things she did suggest, sucked. Martinelli also wrote back and from then on, for the next seven years, they wrote each other often.
It�s interesting to read this, watching as both authors became more well-known and published and infamous. But it�s also incredibly irritating to read, because it�s so hard to read.
This needs explaining. Anybody who knows the Bukowski mythos knows that the guy drank a lot. So, in these late night ramblings to a woman he�s never met, you can�t be sure if he�s drunk when he�s pounding away at his typewriter, misspelling every other word, or if he�s trying to be cute and quirky. It�s probably a little of both, but it reads like a 14-year-old�s first punk zine where the little snot thinks it�s rebellious to misspell every other word � punxs, fuk, amerikkka, stoopid, etc., and leave conjunctions off the general sentence structure.
Tell me this doesn�t make your head hurt, or if you think it shouldn�t be published in something like a stapled fanzine with a name like Lunkheads (and if it doesn�t, you�re probably reading way too many blogs and you fail to notice misspellings anymore):
if yv nvr ridden ina bean u don no wat livin means n to hell with vivaldi, n if uv never been in a room with Sheri M while she�s toddes her beercans against the walls or talked abt Gramps and Cantos 90 and 92, well, the hell with�Vivaldi, if u�ve never shee Sheri rip the phone frum the wall or Po Li get the bowl �n roach ready, y�ve wasted yr time, friend, listenin� to�Vivaldi, or if u�ve neva gotten letas frum Shed tellin� y that u build a-hole palaces and that Sherman�s gona cross t Jordan, well ok, and too bad, n if U�ve neva eaten tha cakes n cookies that gassed Pound, ok, man, or formulas for sea-water to make u stan up after 40, well ok, man; I sent her a photo a me in full topue, waterin the lawn; she sen bak a dog�s leg frozen in orange gelatine... wal, t nex mov iz up t tha Dutchess...
I consider my point made. Jesus, just trying to transcribe this, it was so difficult not to fix the spelling.
Martinelli is actually worse, and she can�t even use drunkenness as an excuse. She purposely misspells everything and has random sentences structured together by two-thirds of an ellipses, and all because she�s a poet! An Artiste! A creative free spirit!
In other words, she�s an annoying fucktard.
But watching the drunken flirting between these two makes the perfect transition into my life. On Thursday, I planned to meet one of my friends at the local dive bar to bemoan relationships. I stopped first at the high-class restaurant/bar near my work, to see my friend, Sexy Bartender.
I know a lot of people like to utilize quotes from long-dead white guys as inspiration, but tell me if you�ve ever heard a better quote in your life, especially when it pertains to you:
�Dean�s the only person I like buying a drink on the house for in this entire fucking place. He always seems so appreciative.�
Why the hell can�t everybody say things like that?
