Today is a Richard Brautigan sort of day.

From Wikipedia:

In 1984, at age 49, Richard Brautigan died of a self-inflicted .44 Magnum gunshot-wound to the head in his house in Bolinas, California, looking out the ocean through his window. The exact date of his death is unknown, but it is speculated that Brautigan ended his life on September 14, 1984 after talking to Marcia Clay, a former girlfriend, on the telephone. … It is said he left a suicide note which read “Messy, isn’t it?”

Despite his troubled life, he was an incredible poet. Here are some of my favourite poems. You can read more here.

30 Cents, Two Transfers, Love

Thinking hard about you
I got on the bus
and paid 30 cents car fare
and asked the driver for two transfers
before discovering
that I was
alone.

Donner Party

Forsaken, fucking in the cold,
eating each other, lost
runny noses,
complaining all the time
like so many
people
that we know

I Feel Horrible. She Doesn’t

I feel horrible. She doesn’t
love me and I wander around
like a sewing machine
that’s just finished sewing
a turd to a garbage can lid.

It’s Raining In Love

I don’t know what it is,
but I distrust myself
when I start to like a girl
a lot.

Karma Repair Kit: Items 1-4

1. Get enough food to eat, and eat it.
2. Find a place to sleep where it is quiet, and sleep there.
3. Reduce intellectual and emotional noise until you reach the silence of yourself, and listen to it.
4.

Please

Do you think of me
as often
as I think
of you?

The Shenevertakesherwatchoff Poem

Because you always have a clock
strapped to your body, it’s natural
that I should think of you as the
correct time:
with your long blonde hair at 8:03,
and your pulse-lightning breasts at
11:17, and your rose-meow smile at 5:30,
I know I’m right.

The Beautiful Poem

I go to bed in Los Angeles thinking
about you.

Pissing a few moments ago
I looked down at my penis
affectionately.

Knowing it has been inside
you twice today makes me
feel beautiful.

3 A.M.
January 15, 1967