and making hats. Then I heard her turn off the set, switch out the kitchen light and she came into the bedroom, right past the bedroom and she didn't see me, she went right n down to the crapper. She was in there a while and then I watched her switch out of her clothes and into this big pink nightie. She fucked with her face a bit, gave up, put on a couple of curlers, then turned around and walked toward the bed and saw me. "My god, Charley, you're in the wrong bed." "Uh, uh." "Listen, honey, I'm not that kind of woman." "O, cut the horseshit and climb in." She did. My god, she was nothing but meat. Actually, I was a bit frightened. What did you do with all that stuff? Well, I was trapped. Marie's whole side of the bed sank down. "Listen, Charley-" I grabbed her head, turned it, and she seemed to be crying, and then my lips were on hers. We kissed. Damn it, my cock was getting hard. Good god. What was it? "Charley," she said, "you don't have to." I took one of her hands and placed it around my cock. "O shit," she said, "o shit!" Then she kissed me, tongued me. She had a small tongue ---at least that was small ---and it ripped in and out, rather full of saliva and passion. I pulled away. "Whatza matta?" "Wait uh minute." I reached over and got the fifth and took a good long pull, then I sat it down again and I reached on under and lifted that huge pink nightie. I got to feeling and I didn't know what I had but it seemed to be it, very small though, but in the right place. Yes, it was her cunt. I poked at it with my pecker. Then she reached down and guided me in. Another miracle. That thing was tight. It almost ripped the skin off of me. We started working. I was looking for the long ride but I didn't care. She had me. It was one of the best fucks of my life. I moaned and hollered, then finished, rolled off. Unbelievable. When she came back from the bathroom we talked a while, then she went to sleep. But she snored. SO I had to go down to my own bed. And I awakened the next morning as she went to work. "Gotta hurry, Charley," she said. "Sure, baby." As soon as she left I went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. She'd left her purse there. Ten dollars. I didn't take it. I walked back to the bathroom and took a good crap, without the spider. Then I took a bath. I tried to brush my teeth, vomited a bit. I dressed and walked into the kitchen. I'd gotten hold of a piece of paper and pen: Marie: I love you. You are very good to me. But I must leave. And I don't know exactly why. I'm crazy, I guess. Goodbye. Charley I propped the note up against the television set. I didn't feel good. I felt like crying. It was quiet in there, it was quiet in there the way I liked it. Even the stove and the refrigerator looked human, I mean good human --- they seemed to have arms and voices and they said, hang around, kid, it's good here, it can be very good here. I found what was left of the 5th in the bedroom. I drank that. Then I found a can of beer in the refrigerator. I drank that. Then I got up and made the long walk down that narrow place, it seemed like A hundred yards. I got to the door and then I remembered I had the key. I walked back and put the key with the note. Then I looked at the ten in the purse again. I left it there. I made the walk again. When I got to the door, I knew that when I closed it there would be no going back. I closed it. It was final. Down those steps. I was alone again and nobody gave a damn. I walked south, then took a right. I walked along, I walked along and got out of the French Quarter. I crossed Canal Street. I walked along for some blocks and then I turned this way and then I crossed another street and turned that way. I didn't know where I was going. I passed a place to my left and a man was standing in the doorway and he said, "Hey, man, you want a job?" And I looked into the doorway and here were these rows of men lined up at wooden tables and they had hammers and they were hitting at things in shells, they looked like clam shells and they broke the shells and did something with the meat, and it was dark in there; it seemed as if the men were beating at themselves with hammers and tossing away what was left of them, and I told the man, "No, I don't want a job." I was facing the sun as I walked. I had 74 cents. The sun was all right. === **My Big-Assed Mother** they were tow good girls, Tito and Baby. they both looked near 60 but they were close to 40. all that wine and worry. I was 29 and looked closer to 50. all that wine and worry. I had gotten the apartment first and then they had moved in. it worried the apartment house manager who kept sending the cops up when we made the least bit of noise. it was jumpy. I was afraid to piss in the center of the bowl. the best time was the MIRROR, watching myself, bloated belly, with Baby and Tito, drunk and sick for nights and days, all of us, the cheap radio playing, tubes all worn-out sitting there on that worn-down rug, ah my, the MIRROR, and I'd be watching, and I'd say: "Tito, it's in your ass. feel it?" "oh yes, oh my yes - SHOVE! hey! where ya GOING?" "now, Baby, you got it in front here, umm? feel it? big purple head, like a snake singing arias! feel me love?" "oooh, dahling, I think I'm gonna c-..HEY! where ya GOING?" "Tito, I am back in your rumble seat. I am parting you in two. you don't have a chance!" "oooh god ooooh, HEY where ya GOING? get back in there!" "I dunno." "I dunno who I want to catch it. what can I do? I want you both, I can't HAVE you both! And while trying to make up my mind I am in a terror of demise and agony trying to hold it! doesn't anybody understand my suffering?" "no, just give it to me!" "no, me, me!" THEN THE BIG FIST OF THE LAW. "bang! BanG! BANG! "hey, what's going on in there?" "nuttin'." "nothing? what's all that moaning and hollering and screaming? it's 3:30 a.m. you've got four floors of people wide awake and wonderin-" "please go away. my mother has a bad heart. you are terrorizing her. and she's down to her last pawn." "and YOU are too, buddy! In case you don't know, this happens to be the Los Angeles Police Department-" "christ, I'd have never guessed-" "now you've guessed. o.k. open up or we'll kick it down!" Tito and Baby ran into the far corner of the dining room, crouched and shivering, holding, hugging their aging wrinkled and wino and insane bodies. they were stupidly lovely. "open up here, buddy, we been up here four times in the past week and a half on the same call. you think we like to go around just throwing people in jail just because it makes us feel good?" "yeah." "Captain Bradley says he doesn't care whether you are black or white." "you tell Captain Bradley that I feel the same way." I kept quiet. the two whores shivering and clutching their wrinkled bodies by the corner lampshade. the bland and smothering silence of willow leaves in a chickenshit and unkind winter. they had gotten the key from the manager and the door was open 4 inches but it was being held by the chain which I had on there. one of the cops talked to me while the other pushed with a screwdriver, trying to work the chain out of the slot-holder. I'd let the cop get it almost out, then I'd push the end of the chain all the way back in. while standing there naked with this hard-on. "you are violating my rights. you need a search warrant to enter here. you can't force entry just on your own behest. What the hell's wrong with you guys." "which one of those is supposed to be our mother." "the one with the biggest ass." the other cop almost had the chain off again. I pushed it back with my finger. "come on, let us in, we'll just talk." "what about? the wonders of Disneyland?" "no, no, you sound like an interesting man. we just want to come in and talk." "you must think I'm subnormal. if I ever get queer enough for bracelets I'll buy them at Thrifty's. I'm not guilty of a damn thing but a hard-on and a loud radio and you haven't asked me to shut either of them off." "just let us in. all we want to do is talk." "listen, you are attempting to break and enter without a permit. now, I've got the best lawyer in town-" "a lawyer? whatta you got a lawyer for?" "I've used him for years - draft dodging, indecent exposure, rape, drunk driving, disturbing the peace, assault and battery, arson ---all bad raps." "he won all those cases?" "he's the best. now look, I'm giving you three minutes. either you stop trying to force the door and leave me in peace of I'm getting him on the phone. he won't like to be awakened at this time of the morning. he'll have your badges." the cops stepped back, a little way down the hall. I listened. "you think he knows what he's talking about?" "yes, I think he does." They came back. "your mother sure has a big ass." "too bad you can't have it, eh?" "all right, we're leaving, but you keep it quiet in there. we want that radio off and all that moaning and hollering stopped." "all right, we'll turn off the radio." they left. what a pleasure to hear them leave. what a pleasure it was to have a good lawyer. what a pleasure it was to stay out of jail. I closed the door. "all right, girls, they're gone. 2 nice young boys on the wrong path. And now look!" I looked down. "it's gone, all gone away." "yes, it's all gone." said Baby. "where does it go? it's so sad." "shit," said Tito, "it looks like a dad little vienna sausage." I walked over and sat in a chair, poured a wine. Baby rolled us 3 cigarettes. "how's the wine?" I asked. "down to 4 bottles." "fifths or gallons?" "fifths." "jesus, we gotta get lucky." I picked up a 4 day old newspaper. read the funnies. then went to the sports section. while I was reading, Tito came on over, dropped down to the rug. I felt her working. she had a mouth like one of those toilet plungers that unstopped toilets. I drank my wine and puffed at my cigarette. they'd suck your brains out if you let them. I think they did it to each other when I wasn't around. I got to the horse page. "look here," I told Tito, "this horse cut fractions of 22 and one fifth for the quarter, he's 44 and 4/5ths for the half, then one o nine for 6 furlongs, he must have thought it was a 6 furlong race---" vurp virp slooom vissaaa ooop vop bop vop bop vop "---it's a mile and a quarter, he's trying to sprint away from these routers, he's got 6 lengths turning the last curve and backing up, the horse is dying, he wants to be back in the stable---" sllllurrrp sllurrrr vip vop vop vip vop vop "now check the jock --- if it's Blum he'll win by a nose; if it's Volske he'll win by 3/4's of a length. it's Volske. he wins by 3/4's a bet down from 12 to 8. all stable money, the public hates Volske. they hate Volske and Harmatz. so the stables use these guys 2 or 3 times a meet on the goodies to keep the public off. if it weren't for these two great riders, at the right time, I'd be down on East 5th Street ---" "oooh, you bastard!" Tito lifted her head and screamed, knocked the newspaper out of my hand. then went back to work. I didn't know what to do. she was really angry. then Baby walked over. Baby had very good legs and I lifted her purple skirt and looked at the nylons. Baby leaned over and kissed me, gave me the tongue down the throat. I got my palm on her haunch. I was trapped. I didn't know what to do. I needed a drink. 3 idiots locked together. o moaning and the flight of the last bluebird into the eye of the sun, it was a child's game, a stupid game. first quarter, 22 and 1/4, the half in 44 and 1/5, she smoked it out, victory by a head, Calif. Rain of my body. figs broken lovely open like great red guts in the sun and sucked loose while your mother hated you and your father wanted to kill you and the backyard fence was green and belonged to the Bank of America. Tito smoked it out while I fingered Baby. then we seperated, each waiting the bathroom's turn to wipe the snot from our sexual noses. I was always last. I came out and took one of the winebottles and went over to the window and looked out. "Baby, roll me another smoke." we were on the top floor, the 4th. Floor, high up on a hill. but you can look out on Los Angeles and get nothing, nothing at all. all those people down there sleeping, waiting to get up and go to work. it was stupid. Stupid, stupid and horrible. we had it right: eye, say, blue on green staring deeply through shreds of beanfields, into each other, come. Baby brought me the cigarette. I inhaled and watched the sleeping city. we sat and waited on the sun and whatever there was to be. I did not like the world, but at cautious and easy times you could almost understand it. I don't know where Tito and Baby are now, if they are dead or what, but those nights were good, pinching those high-heeled legs, kissing nylon knees. all that color of dresses and panties, and making the L.A. Police Force earn the green. Spring or flowers or Summer will never be like that again. -charles bukowski - from the books: The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and Erections, Ejaculations, Exhibitions and General Tales of Ordinary Madness === POLITICS IS LIKE TRYING TO SCREW A CAT IN THE ASS "Dear Mr. Bukowski: Why don't you ever write about politics or world affairs?" M.K. "Dear M.K.: What for? Like, what's new? --- everybody knows the bacon is burning." our raving takes place quite quietly while we are staring down at the hairs of a rug --- wondering what the shit went wrong when they blew up the trolley full of jellybeans with the poster of Popeye the Sailor stuck on the side. that's all that matters: the good dream gone, and when that's gone it's all gone. the rest is horseshit games for the Generals and money-makers, speaking of which --- I see where another U.S. bomber full of H-bombs fell out of the sky again --- THIS time into the sea while SUPPOSEDLY protecting my life. the State Dept. says the H-bombs were "unarmed," whatever that means. then we continue to read where one of the H-bombs (lost) had split open and was spreading radioactive shit everywhere while supposedly protecting me WHILE I hadn't even asked for protection. the difference between a Democracy and a Dictatorship is that you don't have to waste your time voting. getting back to the H-bomb dropout --- a little while back the same thing happened off the coast of SPAIN. (we are everywhere, protecting me.) again the bombs get lost --- careless little toys. it took them 3 months --- if I remember properly --- to find and lift that last bomb out of there. it may have been 3 weeks but to the people in that coast town it must have seemed 3 years. that last bomb --- the god damned thing had gotten itself wedged on the edge of a sandhill far down in the sea. and everytime they tried to hook the thing, so tenderly, it would shake loose and roll a little further down the hill. meanwhile, all the poor people in that coast town were tossing in their beds at night wondering if they'd be blown to hell, courtesy of the Stars and Stripes. of course, the U.S. State Dept. issued a state ment saying the H-bomb had no detonation fuse, but meanwhile the rich had left for other parts and the American sailors and townspeople looked very nervous. (after all, it the things couldn't blow up what were they flying them around for? might as well carry 2-ton salamis. fuse means "spark" or "trigger," and "spark" can come from any where, and "trigger" means "jolt" or any similar action that will set off the firing mechanism. NOW the terminology is "unarmed," which sounds safer but is the same thing.) anyhow, they hooked at the bomb but as the saying goes, the thing seemed to have a mind of its own. then a few undersea storms came about and our lovely little bomb rolled further and further down its hill. the sea is very deep, much deeper than our leadership. finally, special equipment was designed just to haul bomb-ass and the thing was pulled from the sea. Palomares. yes, that's where it happened: Palomares. and you know what they did next? --- the American Navy had a BAND CONCERT in the town park in celebration of finding the bomb - if the thing wasn't dangerous they were really cutting loose. yes, and the sailors played the music together, one big sexual and spiritual release. whatever happened to the bomb they pulled out of the sea, I don't know, nobody (except the few) knows, and the band played on. while 1,000 tons of radio- active Spanish topsoil was shipped to Aiken, S.C. in sealed containers. I'll be the rent is cheap in Aiken, S.C. so now our bombs are swimming and sinking, chilled and "un- armed" about Iceland. so what do you do when you've got the people's minds on something not so good? easy, you get their minds on something else. they can only think about one thing at a time. like, all right, head line of Jan. 23, 1968: B-52 CRASHES OFF GREENLAND WITH H-BOMBS; DANES IRKED. Danes irked? oh, mother! anyhow, suddenly, Jan. 24, headline: NORTH KOREANS SEIZE U.S. NAVY SHIP. oh boy, patriotism is back! why, those dirty bastards! I thought THAT war was over! ah ha, I see --- the REDS! Korean puppets! it says under the A.P. wirephoto, something like this --- the U.S. intelligence shop Pueblo --- formerly an army cargo ship, now converted into one of the Navy's secret spy ships equipped with electric monitoring gear and oceanographic equipment was forced into Wonsan Harbor off the coast of North Korea. those dirty Red bastards, always fucking around! but I DID notice that the lost H-bomb story got shoved into a small space: "Radiation Detected at B-52 Crash Site; Split Bomb hinted." we are told that the president was awakened between 2 a.m. and 2:30 a.m. and told of the capture of the Pueblo. I presume he went back to sleep. the U.S. says the Pueblo was in international waters; the Koreans say the shop was in territorial waters. one country is lying, one is not. then one wonders, what good is a spy ship in international waters? it's like wearing a raincoat on a sunny day. the closer you can get on in, the better your instruments pick up. headline: Jan. 26, 1968: U.S. CALLS UP 14,700 AIR RESERVISTS. the lost H-bombs off Iceland have completely disappeared from print as if it had never happened. meanwhile: Sen. John C. Stennis (D.-Miss.) said Mr. Johnson's decision (the call- up of Air Reserves_ was "necessary and justified" and added, "I hope he will not hesitate to mobilize ground reserve components as well." Senate minority leader, Richard B. Russell (D.-Ga.): "In the last analysis, this country must get the return of that ship and the men that were seized. after all, great wars have started from much less serious incidents than this." House Speaker John W. McCormack (D.-Mass.): "The American people have to wake up to the realization that communism is still bent on world domination. there is too much apathy about it." I think that if Adolph Hitler were around now he would pretty much enjoy the present scene. what's there to say about politics and world affairs? the Berlin Crisis, the Cuban crisis, spy planes, spy ships, Vietnam, Korea, lost H- bombs, riots in American cities, starvation in India, purge in Red China? are there good guys and bad guys? some that always lie, some that never lie? are there good governments and bad governments? no, there are only bad governments and worse governments. will there be a flash of light and heat that rips us apart one night while we are screwing or crapping or reading the comic strips or pasting blue-chip stamps into a book? instant death is nothing new, nor is mass instant death new. but we've improved the product; we've had these centuries of knowledge and culture and discovery to work with; the libraries are fat and crawling and overcrowded with books; great paintings sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars; medical science is transplanting the human heart; you can't tell a madman from a sane one upon the streets, and suddenly we find our lives, again, in the hands of the idiots. the bombs may never drop; the bombs might drop. eeney, meeney, miney, mo- now if you'll forgive me, dear readers, I'll get back to the whores and the horses and the booze, while there's time. if these contain death, then, to me, it seems far less offensive to be responsible for your own death than the other kind which is brough to you fringed with phrases of Freedom and Democracy and Humanity and/or any of all that Bullshit. first post, 12:30. first drink, now. and the whores will always be around. Clara, Penny, Alice, Jo- eeny, meeney, miney, mo- === swastika The President of the United States of America entered his car, surrounded by his agents. He sat in the back seat. It was a dark and unimpressive morning. Nobody spoke. They rolled away and the tires could be heard on a street still wet from the preceding night's rain. The silence was more unusual than it had ever been before. They drove along a while and then the President spoke: "Say, this isn't the way to the airport." His agents didn't answer. A vacation had been scheduled. Two weeks at his private home. His plane was waiting at the airport. It began to drizzle. It looked as if it might rain again. The men, including the President, were dressed in heavy overcoats; hats; it made the car seem very full. Outside, the cold wind was steady. "Driver," said the President, "I believe you're on the wrong course." The driver didn't answer. The other agents stared straight ahead. "Listen," said the President, "will somebody tell that man the way to the airport?" "We're not going to the airport," said the agent to the President's left. "We're not going to the airport?" the President asked. The agents were again quiet. The drizzle became rain. The driver turned the wipers on. "Listen, what is it?" asked the President. "What's going on here?" "It's been raining for weeks," said the agent next to the driver. "It gets depressive. "I'll certainly be glad to see a little sunshine." "Yes, me too," said the driver. "Something's wrong here," said the President, "I demand to know-" "You are no longer in a position to demand," said the agent to the President's right. "You mean?-" "We mean," said the same agent. "Is it to be an assassination?" asked the President. "Hardly. That's old-fashioned." "Then what-" "Please. We have orders not to discuss anything." They drove for some hours. It continued to rain. Nobody spoke. "Now," said the agent to the President's left, "circle again, then turn in. We're not being followed. The rain has been very helpful." The car circled the area, then turned up a small dirt road. It was muddy and now and then the tires spun, slipped, then gripped again and the car went on. A man in a yellow raincoat held a flashlight and directed them into an open garage. It was an isolated area with many trees. A small farmhouse sat to the left of the garage. The agents opened the car doors. "Get out," they told the President. The President did so. The agents kept the President carefully between them, although there wasn't a human within miles except for the man with the flashlight and the yellow raincoat. "I don't see why we couldn't have done the whole thing here," said the man in the yellow raincoat. "It certainly seems much riskier the other way." "Orders," said one of the agents. "You know how it is. He's always gone a lot on intuition. He does so now, more than ever." "It's very cold. Do you have time for a cup of coffee? It's ready." "That's good of you. It's been a long drive. I presume the other car is all ready to go?" "Of course. It's been checked again and again. Actually, we're about ten minutes ahead on the timetable. That's one reason I suggested the coffee. You know how he is about precision." "O.K., then, let's go in." Keeping the President carefully between them, they entered the farmhouse. "You sit there," one of the agents told the President. "It's good coffee," said the man in the yellow raincoat, "hand-ground." He walked around with the pot. He poured himself one, then sat down, still in the yellow raincoat, only the headpiece thrown on the stove. "Ah, it is good," said on of the agents. "Cream And sugar?" one of them asked the President. "All right," he said- There wasn't much room in the old car but they all managed to get in, with the President again in the back seat-The old car also slipped in the mud and rutholes but made it to the road. Again, it was a silent ride most of the way. Then one of the agents lit a cigarette. "Damn it, I just can't stop smoking!" "Well, it's a hard thing to do, that's all. Don't worry about it." "I'm not worried about it. Just disgusted with myself." "Well, forget all that. This is a great day in History." "I'll say so!" said the one with the cigarette. Then he inhaled- They parked outside an old roominghouse. It continued to rain. They sat there some moments. "Now," said the agent next to the driver, "get him out. It's clear. Nobody on the streets." They walked the President between them, first through the front door, then up 3 flights of steps, always keeping the President between them. They stopped and knocked at 306. The signal: one knock, pause, two knocks- The door was opened and the men quickly pushed the President inside. The door was then locked and bolted. Three men were waiting inside. Two were in their 50's. The other sat in an outfit that consisted of an old laborer's shirt, 2nd-hand trousers that were too large and ten dollar shoes, scuffed and unpolished. He sat in a rocker in the center of the room. He was in his 80's but he smiled-and the eyes were those same eyes; the nose, the chin, the forehead hadn't changed much. "Welcome, Mr. President. I've waited a long time on History and Science and You, and all have arrived, on schedule, today-" The President looked at the old man in the rocker. "Great God! You're- you are-" "You've recognized me! Others of your citizens have made jokes about the similarity! Too stupid to even realize that I was-" "But it was proven that-" "Of course, it was proven. The bunkers: April 30th, 1945. We wanted it that way. I've been patient. Science was with us but at times I had to speed- up History. We wanted the right man. You are the right man. The others were too impossible --- too alienated from my political philosophy- You are far more ideal. By working through you it will be easier. But as I said, I had to speed-up the reel of History a bit-my age-I had to-" "You mean-?" "Yes. I had your president Kennedy assassinated. And then, his brother- " "But why the 2nd assassination?" We had information that that young man would have won the presidential election." "But what are you going to do with me? I've been told that I'm not to be assassinated-" "May I introduce Drs. Graf and Voelker?" The two men nodded at the President and smiled. "But what is going to happen?" asked the President. "Please. Just a moment. I must question my men. Karl, how did it go with The Double?" "Fine. We phoned from the farm. The Double arrived at the airport on schedule. The Double announced, that due to weather conditions, he was canceling the flight until tomorrow. Then The double announced that he would take a pleasure drive-that it pleased him to be driven about in the rain-" "And the rest?" asked the old man. "The Double is dead." "Fine. Let's get on with it then. History and Science have arrived on Time." The agents began walking the President toward one of the two operating tables. They asked him to disrobe. The old man walked to the other table. Drs. Graf and Voelker climbed into their medical gowns and made ready for the task- The young-looking of the 2 men arose from one of the operating tables. He dressed himself in the President's clothing, then walked to the full- length mirror on the north wall. He stood for a good 5 minutes. Then he turned. "It is miraculous! Not even any operating scars-no recuperating period. Congratulations, gentlemen! How do you do it?" "Well, Adolph," answered one of the doctors, "we've come a long way since-" "WAIT! I am never to be addressed as 'Adolph' again-until the proper time, until I say so!-Until then, there will be no German spoken-I am now the President of the United States of America!" "Yes, Mr. President!" Then he reached and touched above his upper lip: "But I do miss the old mustache!" They smiled. Then he asked: "And the old man?" "We've placed him in the bed. He will not awaken for 24 hours. At this moment-everything-all appendages of the oper- ation have been destroyed, dissolved. All we need do is walk out of here," said Dr.Graf. "But-Mr. President, it is my suggestion that this man be-" "No, I tell you, he's helpless! Let him suffer as I have suffered!" He walked over to the bed and looked down at the man. A white-haired old man in his 80's. "Tomorrow I'll be in his private home. I wonder how his wife will enjoy my lovemaking?" he gave a small laugh. "I'm sure, mein Fuhrer-I'm sorry! Please! I'm sure, Mr. President, that she will enjoy your love-making very much." "Let's leave this place, then. The doctors first, to go their way.then the rest of us-one or two at a time-a transfer of cars, then a good night's sleep at the White House." The old man with the white hair awakened. He was alone in the room. He could escape. He got out of the bed in search of his clothing and as he walked across the room he saw an old man in a full-length mirror. No, he thought, oh my god, no! He raised an arm. The old man in the mirror raised an arm. He moved forward. The old man in the mirror enlarged. He looked down at his hands --- wrinkled, and not his hands! And he looked down at his feet! They weren't his feet! It wasn't his body! "My God!" he said aloud, "OH MY GOD!" Then he heard his voice. It wasn't even his own voice. They'd transferred the voice box also. He felt his throat, his head with his fingers. No scars! No scars anywhere. He got into the old man's clothing and ran down the stairway. At the first door he knocked on the door was marked "Landlady." The door opened. An old woman. "Yes, Mr. Tilson?" she asked. "'Mr. Tilson?' Lady, I am the President of the United States of America! This is an emergency!" "Oh, Mr. Tilson, you're so funny!" "Look, where's your telephone?" "Right where it has always been, Mr. Tilson. Just to the left of the entrance door." He felt in his pockets. They had left him change. He looked into the wallet. $18. He put a dime in the phone. "Lady, what's the address here?" "Now, Mr. Tilson, you know the address. You've lived here for years! You're acting very strange today, Mr. Tilson. And I want to tell you something else!" "Yes, yes- what is it?" "I want to remind you that your rent is due today!" "Oh, lady, please tell me the address here!" "As if you didn't know! It's 2435 Shoreham Drive." "Yes," he said into the phone, "cab? I want a cab at 2435 Shoreham Drive. I'll be waiting on the first floor. My name? My name? All right, my name is Tilson-" It's no use going to the White House, he thought, they have that covered-I'll go to the largest newspaper. I'll tell them. I'll tell the editor everything, everything that happened- The other patients laughed at him. "See that guy? The guy that kinda looks like that dictator-fellow, what'-his-name, only a lot older. Anyhow, when he came in here a month ago he claimed that he was the President of the United States of America. That was a month ago. He doesn't say it too much now. But he sure likes to read the newspapers. I never saw a guy who was so eager to read a newspaper. He does know a lot about politics, though. I guess that's what drove him crazy. Too much politics." The dinner bell rang. All the patients responded. Except one. A male nurse walked up to him. "Mr. Tilson?" There wasn't any answer. "MR. TILSON?" "Oh-yes?" "It's time to eat, Mr. Tilson!" The old white-haired man rose and walked slowly toward the patients' dining room. -charles bukowski - from the books: The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and Erections, Ejaculations, Exhibitions and General Tales of Ordinary Madness === **Trouble with a Battery** I bought her a drink and then another drink and then we went up the stairway behind the bar. there were several large rooms there. she had me hot. sticking her tongue out at me. and we played all the way up the stairway. I took the first one, standing up, inside the door. she just slid back her panties and I put it in. then we went into the bedroom and there was some kid in the other bed, there were two beds, and the kid said, "hello." "it's my brother," she said. the kid looked real thin and vicious, but then almost everybody in the world looked vicious when you thought about it. there were several bottles of wine along the headboard. they opened a bottle and I waited until they both drank from the bottle, then I tried some. I threw a ten on the dresser. the kid really drank at the wine. "his big brother is the great bullfighter, Jaime Bravo." "I've heard of Jaime Bravo, he fights mostly out of T.," I said, "but you don't have to give me any bullshit." "o.k.," she said, "no bullshit." we drank and talked for some time, just small easy talk. and then she turned out the lights and with the brother there in the other bed, we did it again. I had my wallet under her pillow. when we finished she hit the light and went to the bathroom while her brother and I passed the bottle. while the brother wasn't looking I wiped off on the sheet. she came out of the bathroom and she still looked good, I mean after two shots at it, she still looked good. her breasts were small but firm; what there was of them really jutted. and her ass was big, big enough. "why did you come to this place?" she asked, moving toward the bed. she slid in beside me, pulled up the sheet, pulled from the bottle. "I had to get my battery charged across the street." "after that one," she said, "you'll need a charge." we all laughed. even the brother laughed. then he looked at her: "is he all right?" "sure he's all right," she said. "what's all that?" I asked. "we have to be careful." "I don't know what you mean." "one of the girls was almost murdered up here last year. some guy gagged her so she couldn't scream and then took a pen knife and cut these crosses all over her body. she almost bled to death." the brother dressed very slowly, then left. I gave her a five. she threw it on the dresser with the ten. she passed the wine. it was good wine, French wine. you didn't gag. she put her leg up against mine. we were both sitting up in bed. it was very comfortable. "how old are you?" she asked. "damn near half a century." "you can sure go, but you look real beat-up." "I'm sorry. I'm not very pretty." "oh no, I think you're a beautiful man. didn't anybody ever tell you?" "I'll bet you say that to all the men you fuck." "no, I don't." we sat there a while, passing the bottle. it was very quiet except that you could hear a little music from the bar downstairs. I passed into a kind of dream-trance. "HEY!" she yelled. she jammed a long fingernail into my bellybutton. "ow! god damn!" "LOOK at me!" I turned and looked at her. "what do you see?" "a fine-looking Mexican-Indian girl." "how can you see?" "what?" "how can you see? you don't open your eyes. you keep your eyes in little slits. why?" it was a fair question. I took a good pull at the French wine. "I don't know. maybe I'm afraid. afraid of everything. I mean, people, buildings, things, everything. mainly people." "I'm afraid too," she said. "but your eyes are open. I like your eyes." she was hitting the wine. hard. I knew those Mexican-Americans. I was waiting for her to get nasty. then there was a rapping on the door that damn near shitted me out. it was flung open, viciously, American-style, and there was the bartender - big red brutal banal bastard. "ain't you through with that son of a bitch yet?" "I think he wants some more," she said. "do you? asked Mr. Banal. "I think so," I said. his eyes eagled over to the money on the dresser and he slammed the door. a money society. THEY thought it was magic. "that was my husband, sort of," she said. "I don't think I want to go again," I said. "why not?" "first, I'm 48. second, it's kind of like fucking in the waiting room of a bus station." she laughed. "I'm what you guys call a 'whore.' I must fuck 8 or ten guys a week, at least." "that sure doesn't help my cause." "it helps mine." "yeh." we passed the bottle back and forth. "you like to fuck women?" "that's why I'm here." "how about men?" "I don't fuck men." she pulled at the bottle. she must have taken a good one-quarter of it. "maybe you'd like it in the ass? maybe you'd like a man to fuck you in the ass?" "you're talking crazy now." she looked straight ahead. there was a little silver Christ on the further wall. she kept looking at the little silver Christ on his cross. he was very pretty. "maybe you've been hiding it. maybe you want somebody to fuck you in the ass." "o.k., have it your way - maybe that's what I really want." I got the corkscrew and pulled out the top of a new French wine, meanwhile getting a bunch of cork and shit into the wine as I always did. only a waiter in the movies could open a French wine without that trouble. I took the first good gulp. cork and all. I handed her the bottle. her leg had dropped away. she had a fish-like look on her face. She took a good swallow. I took the wine back from her. the little splints of cork didn't seem to know where to go in the bottle. I got rid of some of them. "you want me to fuck you in the ass?" she asked. "WHAT?" "I can DO it!" she got out of bed and went to the top drawer of the dresser and strapped this belt around her waist and then faced me ---and there, looking at me, was this BIG celluloid cock. "ten inches!" she laughed, pushing out her belly, jutting the thing toward me, "and it never gets soft and it never wears out!" "I liked you better the other way." "you don't believe my big brother is Jaime Bravo the great bullfighter?" there she was standing there with this celluloid cock on, asking me about Jaime Bravo. "I don't think Bravo could cut it in Spain," I said. "could you cut it in Spain?" "hell, I can't cut it in Los Angeles. Now please ta