bucolic

Next Tuesday, June 29th, is my birthday. This is the big day when I turn 40 years old. A milestone, I guess. When I think about it, I don't really feel like I'm almost 40. I'm not like a typical 40 year old. I have no wife (ex-wife, yes), no kids. I do what I want to do when I want to do it and that's OK with me. With that in mind, I've considered where I've been, what I've done, and what I've experienced in this life. A lot of junk. Good and bad. So to commemorate this upcoming birthday, I've decided to bust out one of my favorite Bukowski poems. Here you go.

Counsel

I am living in hell, he told me, and I said, is that right,
Frankie? and he said, I am truly living in hell, you
would never believe it.
everything, he continued, has hardened into a repetitious
march to nowhere.
is that right, Frankie? fucking-a, he said, you ever
been locked into a situation where the only escape is
death?
yes, I told him.
then what do you do? he asked.
Frankie, I just wait, death is coming anyhow.
but, he told me, I can't wait.
Frankie, you'll wait.
why, he asked me, is pain the most present and constant
thing in life?
physical pain is hard to explain, Frankie, but I know what
causes most spiritual pain.
yeah? yeah? he asked.
most spiritual pain, my lad, is caused by
too much expectation.
yeah? yeah? he asked.
too much expectation, I said, try to avoid it.
do you? he asked.
yes, more and more I expect less and less.
and do you get less?
almost always, Frankie.
damn, he said, it always helps to talk to you, you've been
around the block.
I'm afraid so, Frankie.
he asked, did you ever think you would live this long?
Frankie, I haven't lived this long, I've lasted this
long, good
night.

I hung up the receiver and pulled the
bottle
toward me.