Saturday Morning Bukowski



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Holly hails from an illustrious lineage of fortune tellers, yogis, folk healers, troubadours and poets of the fine and mystical arts. Shape-shifting Tantric Siren of the Lunar Mysteries, she surfs the ebbs and flows of the multiverse on the Pure Sound of Creation. Her alchemy is Sacred Folly — revolutionary transformation through Love, deep play, Beauty, and music.

3 thoughts on “Saturday Morning Bukowski

  1. Les poetes maudits

    Buck–some often fabulous poems (45 or so volumes!), one mostly wretched life

    Buck actually took up the practice of Transcendental Meditation just before the very end, right after he gave up cigs and drink. But it was already past Last Call, I’m afraid.

    In another time he might have been brawling & dueling, spying & wenching with Kit Marlowe, or praying & lauding in Bedlam with Kit Smart & his supersmart Kit-cat Jeoffry when Dr Sam dropped by to bend his knee with Kit, but certainly swingin with Frankie Villon in ol’ Paree—from the enjamned final endstop of the gibbet line. There’s a couplet for ya. Instead…. Oh well, they wanted to throw Blake in Bedlam, too, but didn’t have to! & wanted to hang him for sedition, too—something to do with helping Tom Paine escape, they say. Comparing Buck to Walt? Sweet, tho perhaps as pious as perspicacious.
    “Walt Wheetman! Walt Wheetman!”(–Down By Law).
    Buk often makes me think of Tom Waits–who is doing much better, last I heard.

    Tom, back in the day, used to be the bouncer at a coupla folk clubs I use to hang at in San Diego (the Heritage in Mission Beach, and its daughter club out in Escondido!–of all places!). They’d let him sing on open mike on a slow night. Also saw Tim Buckley there–can’t remember but I think Tom may have opened for Tim that night. Buck & Tom had Troubadour Club connections, natch.


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