I love reading Bukowski
and if I could pick one person to have dinner with,
he would be it.
He got it.
And I want to tell him I think I get it.
In his poem one tough mother fckr, he talks about this survivalist cat. How this cat inspired him and he holds up the cat
and says this is what its about, look,
and they don't get, and the cat knows its *******.
I love how he said it was a beautiful fight, still is.
And how winning the war within yourself is worth winning.
I want to get drunk with him and tell him I think I get it.
I have fought battles and wars my entire life, and find it beautiful. There's a beauty in finding peace and letting go.
In getting up everyday when you have no reason to.
Plowing through the hard days and then looking back on the good ones, smiling, knowing you made it.
Battle worn, scarred, older, maybe wiser.
Certainly takes more whiskey to get you drunk
and more cigarettes to fill the lungs
More pills to help you sleep but you're still here, tough mother f@ck*r
It was a beautiful fight, still is.
The battle is never over.
For some, there's always another around the bend.
Small victories and large defeats.
And I celebrate them all.
because if there was ever a fight worth winning, you are it.
None of us are getting out alive, its the living that matters.
So live well enough that death trembles to take us.
I want to tell him I think I get it.
And have a bottle or two with him.
And celebrate him and myself and it all, the good and the bad
and live before I die.