The Suicide Kid by Charles Bukowski
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- čas přidán 27. 09. 2023
- Music: Max Richter - Mercy
Speaker: Tom O' Bedlam (SpokenVerse)
Full poem:
I went to the worst of bars
hoping to get
killed.
but all I could do was to
get drunk
again.
worse, the bar patrons even
ended up
liking me.
there I was trying to get
pushed over the dark
edge
and I ended up with
free drinks
while somewhere else
some poor
son-of-a-bitch was in a hospital
bed,
tubes sticking out all over
him
as he fought like hell
to live.
nobody would help me
die as
the drinks kept
coming,
as the next day
waited for me
with its steel clamps,
its stinking
anonymity,
its incogitant
attitude.
death doesn't always
come running
when you call
it,
not even if you
call it
from a shining
castle
or from an ocean liner
or from the best bar
on earth (or the
worst).
such impertinence
only makes the gods
hesitate and
delay.
ask me: I'm
72.
Video: All royalty free video from from pexels.com
#Bukowski #CharlesBukowski
There are people who don't know how to recite a poetry or poem. Bit this reciter have that passion and understanding of the words holding the deep feeling.
Bukowski, underrated genius, the best absolutely. I can't read anyone else after Bukowski.
Try Leonard Cohen. His son compiled his last poetry before he past away.
The narraror is incredible, I thiñk he understands the hard and often futile lives we live. On to obscurity.
Tom O'Bedlam
Bukowski is not a womens writer. But he kind of grew on me. So, every day, I write a "poem" about my life and feeling. It helps me to get through the days.
That is really beautiful. Continue living this way. It's helped me a great deal as well. Anyway, have a good day wherever you are.
@@nickseifert9891 Thanks. You too.
My inner old man agrees with you.
Bukowski is … Bukowski and I am grateful he wrote
The fact that he's my best poet makes me judges myself about my personality 😂
RIP My Brother Roger Nemec 🙏
9 22 1964 - 4 24 2003 💙
Thank you, John Cogs
Sorry in advance if my question may offend or upset you in any way
Out of curiosity in connection with this poem, did he committed suicide??
Read/listen to the last line@@msimika_III.
This is so comforting, to know someone else shares the same thoughts as I
I sat outside on the porch last night, something I don’t do often. it was pouring rain, all day. I came across this poem, intrigued by the title, as I myself am pained by the desire and pain of suicidal thoughts. I know what it’s like to beg for death. I know how harrowing, how hopeless, how done… it feels.
I listened to this 10 times. each time my tears became heavier, until they fell harder than the rain, and I finished my drink and went inside.
“such impertinence only makes the gods hesitate, and delay. ask me, I’m 72” has been ringing in my head. what a dreadful feeling this will always be for me.
Sorry to hear this
Hope you are doing just fine
I guess I'm in an odd boat these days. Spent maybe 30 years suicidal. Tried a few times, left a lot to chance and risk. But, these days, it's not really there anymore. I still want to die; I'm morbidly curious of how it claims me. I still want to be dead; I often feel I'm ready, and growing impatient. But, the impetus is gone. There's no longer something calling me to it anymore.
For the last four years or so, I've been sick. Fever, brain damage, inability to function. I found out really quickly how many people in my life were only there superficially. Found out how many flittered away like smoke the moment my candle dimmed. Many, I'd have never suspected. More, some of those I'd have thought would be first to go stayed behind with me. And, I found more people in that darkness that weren't as attached to what I was as to who I was. That keeps me going these days. Not that I don't want to die, or be dead; I'm still ready to get this over with. But I wouldn't want them to leave like the others. And I realize, they feel the same of me. I don't want them to wonder "wasn't I enough?" as I so often have. So, I face whatever comes, as it's all inevitable in it's conclusion anyway. I don't mind. The dead don't want for anything, or feel the sting of memory. At that end, none of this will matter, so I might as well see what's next. Can't be worse than what I've already seen, and if it is, I guess I have a new measure for what I can endure. That's somewhat entertaining. I'm taking the long road, I suppose, but the company is nicer these days.
If the road you're on makes you want so much to cross into that ultimate unknown, perhaps try the unknowns in life first. The end of the road is inevitable, and always available should you choose a shortcut; what's a detour if you're getting to the same place eventually anyway?
you’ve been alive longer than I, I respect and consume your wisdom. thank you for taking time out of your life to respond to me.
I greatly understand your perspective and more often than not do I agree. we will die shortly anyway, a human doesn’t get more than 120 years, at the most. why not live out another 60? 80? right? why not plunge right into the pool of life and live it to its fullest extent before death knocks on our doors?
some days, I want this for me. I want to laugh until I cry, to see the world, to meet a million amazing other humans, I want this, I do. I’ve survived with these feelings for 12 years, what’s another 60?
but, the monster inside of me sometimes rattles its cage so fucking hard to escape that I just want to drop and scream. my body is pulling me to kill it.
I think having a purpose in life and loved ones help. I don’t have loved ones who will wonder “why they weren’t enough”. they won’t, they know me. the only two people that might love me know me well enough to know this isn’t them, they will just know I am not a fighter and couldn’t do this anymore. my father pretends this darkness in me doesn’t exist, he ignores me when I talk about these feelings. how can he love me when he won’t embrace all of me, pretend that the most real part of me doesn’t exist? my boyfriend doesn’t understand these feelings, he spent a lot of his life alone, he’s not deeply emotional. he will be okay, if I don’t break his heart before my death to make sure of that.
the only thing we can do is just trudge through this life until we die naturally. go through each day again and again and again and… just do it. but one day, this monster inside me might break out of its cage. it’s already snapped a few bars. I believe I’ll be powerless to stop it.
I just bottle all this in, and listen to this poem. this poem is my best friend, it understands me like nothing else in this world. I go through the motions of life, but I ask god I’m not sure I believe in to just please let me go home. those prayers comfort me. I want to die, but I don’t want to have to do it. fuck I am terrified to try and end up paralyzed, non verbal, broke and homeless if I need hospital care. so I won’t attempt again unless it’s on a whim. I live close to the golden gate bridge and wonder often about leaving home at 3 am and making my way to jump, even with the netting, maybe I could climb to the edge and still jump. I have helium stuff in my amazon cart, stuff to inhale gas. I keep these things in mind as a sort of comfort, I won’t actively attempt but am comforted to know the options are there. I’ve tried twice and failed.
I am only 23, so young… but I’ve always felt so old. socially anxious since I was a little girl. first attempted to drown myself in a bathtub at 11. I thought it would get easier after my teenager years, but it’s only gotten worse as an adult. is it my brain, or my soul? I do not know.
I will keep going through the motions of life, until the monster breaks out of its cage. in the meantime, it is comforting to know other humans like me are out there, ones so pained by just living in our skin but dragging our feet to the finish line.
thank you.
@@CosmicWaltz7
I am very sorry to hear you’ve had problems with your brain and cognitive functions. I could imagine it’s very difficult, but I am happy to hear you have loved ones who love you enough to stay.
@@ihateallyall I know it's a cliché as hell thing when people say "it gets better", and I won't lie that sometimes it doesn't. I will say, however, that the human brain does not fully develop until the mid 20s - around 25 to 27. That's about the age where I felt things finally started to... I don't know, make sense? Felt like I was on an even playing field finally. I think our bodies are a biological trap, urging us to reproduce before it gives us the cognitive function to realize that's often not in our best interests. Makes sense, evolutionarily - we were created of passed genes calling to pass our own genes off, not to contemplate existence in a meaningless void. So, I say wait until your late 20s to at least see what it's like. I look back and feel like I was a wandering child until sometime around 25. Then, one day, I just started to feel like I was able to see the whole picture better.
First tried to off myself at 13. Took a loaded gun, tried to pull the trigger. I don't know if it was the safety or if I pushed it out of battery, but it didn't fire. 17 or so, I jumped into a river. Couldn't swim. Wasn't even a real attempt - I was trying to show a friend to be careful about what she says. Guess I was fine dying if it proved a point. Most recently was at 27. Guess that was some 6 years ago. It was when I had gotten sick, after finally feeling like I had things going well for me. Decided to test just what kind of luck I had in life, so I played roulette with a revolver. Weird realization afterwards, but you can't lose doing that - you either land on an empty chamber, or you suddenly don't have to worry about it anymore. Going into a mental hospital helped. Saw people who were basically animals, but still respectable in their struggles. Realized I had a hell of a lot more going for me than they did. We didn't choose to exist, but at some point, we have to decide if we're going to keep moaning about it, or if we're going to see what we can get from this limited experience. No, it's not all good. In fact, I think most of it is suffering and boredom. But, when you truly realize death is always an immediate doorway you can take, the you realize you can take more gambles in finding a life you may actually want and still have the option. In my case, I decided debt wasn't as big a deal as, well, the unknown of death. I mean, if I were to die, they can't exactly shake down my corpse for what it owes, and I won't care anymore. So, college seemed like a good idea. To get out of the dirt and see where that takes me. I'm in creative writing courses now. Seems like something you may have a knack for, too. But, everyone has to find their own way. I used to aim at 23 before I'd die. Then 23 came, and I aimed at 27. Then 27 passed, and now I'm thinking 50 is a good number. Hunter S. Thompson seemed to think so, and even he missed it by 17 years. By the time I'm 50, who knows how long I'll be okay staying on this crazy-ass ride? Live til ya die.
Bukowski ! Like he knew my most private thoughts.
Is it possible.
Waited this long for another master piece😢🙏🙏🙏
im super happy to find this
Ah yes i just read this not long ago in burning in water drowning in flame
Thank you!
I wish more people would watch this sort of thing and fewer would watch TikTok prank shorts.
the worst of bars feel like home
When scary places make you feel safe
Bukowski, LEGEND! 📚📖🫡
The unashamed truth of life in all its ugliness
🖤
❤️
❤❤
Very dark very sad but very true .
Ouch
One last kick.
Well I don't think Bukowski lived to 72 though just into his sixties and he had leukemia.
He made it to 73, which makes that line hit even harder
I feel like I’m 76
to the Guy below me, not even Derek Raymond?
Shouldn't of tried charles
More garbage from the Master of dismal depression, if you think this is good poetry, or even poetry at all then you're easily pleased.
I think a good poet is able to put a feeling into words, and this poem does a good job of that, that feeling of fatigue from redundant days
And even if you don’t like it, it’s a stretch to call it garbage, i think you’re just exaggerating your criticism since you believe bukowski is overrated
@@escanor113 First up, Bukowski never wrote even one piece of poetry, poetry has rhyme, rhythm and a story or a moral that's easily comprehended, all of Bukowski's work consists of his addled thinking, mostly under the influence of alcohol, he tells simple stories which might, or might not appeal to different readers, it's all subjective and what you might see as profound won't mean anything to others.
Then there is the snob appeal in pretending to understand his bland and silly utterances, 'Oh I prefer a chablis to a burgundy and this little drop has a pleasant personality with just a pleasing touch of tanin" OR "I really see the deep meaning behind this abstract painting by Dali and isn't Picasso brilliant" Strange utterances attract the Sophists like ants to honey, so it is with Bukowski.
How dare you say that you yourself are garbage
@@Joe-mk2pj I didn't say that Bukowski was garbage, I said that the dismal drivel he wrote is garbage, read poetry by renowned poets and you'll see what I mean.
@@Lili-Benovent that’s alright, I’d recommend the poets Rudy Francisco and Phil Kaye, you may like them
❤