Bukowski in the morning
Jul. 22nd, 2004 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonHey kids! Another poem by uncle Hank Chinaski
I always thought that this poem would make a great EBM/Punk/Industrial song - I picture it w/the distorted echo vocals and a fist-fuck-angry-guitar-assault backed up by a drum machine going faster than a crack heads heart on two for one rock day.
A Challenge To The Dark
Charles Bukowski
shot in the eye
shot in the brain
shot in the ass
shot like a flower in the dance
amazing how death wins hands down
amazing how much credence is given to idiot forms of life
amazing how laughter has been drowned out
amazing how viciousness is such a constant
I must soon declare my own war on their war
I must hold to my last piece of ground
I must protect the small space I have made that has allowed me life
my life not their death
my death not their death...
I need to invest in some decent equipment so I can fuck around with this stuff the way I want to. I like to mix poetry with music for some reason, I usually do Kerouac with say Miles Davis or get into the way William Burroughs can synch smooth with Nurse with Wound (anything off Rock n'roll station especially). Anyway the minute hand on the clock is ready to pimp slap me back to the grind.
Later.
I always thought that this poem would make a great EBM/Punk/Industrial song - I picture it w/the distorted echo vocals and a fist-fuck-angry-guitar-assault backed up by a drum machine going faster than a crack heads heart on two for one rock day.
A Challenge To The Dark
Charles Bukowski
shot in the eye
shot in the brain
shot in the ass
shot like a flower in the dance
amazing how death wins hands down
amazing how much credence is given to idiot forms of life
amazing how laughter has been drowned out
amazing how viciousness is such a constant
I must soon declare my own war on their war
I must hold to my last piece of ground
I must protect the small space I have made that has allowed me life
my life not their death
my death not their death...
I need to invest in some decent equipment so I can fuck around with this stuff the way I want to. I like to mix poetry with music for some reason, I usually do Kerouac with say Miles Davis or get into the way William Burroughs can synch smooth with Nurse with Wound (anything off Rock n'roll station especially). Anyway the minute hand on the clock is ready to pimp slap me back to the grind.
Later.
