Today is a Richard Brautigan sort of day.
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
that I was
Forsaken, fucking in the cold,
eating each other, lost
complaining all the time
like so many
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
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.
Do you think of me
as I think
The Shenevertakesherwatchoff Poem
Because you always have a clock
strapped to your body, it’s natural
that I should think of you as the
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
Pissing a few moments ago
I looked down at my penis
Knowing it has been inside
you twice today makes me
January 15, 1967