By David
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| Image from goodreads.com |
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I got up, walked over to the bride’s mother, ripped her skirt back to her thighs, kissed her quickly upon her pretty knees and began to kiss my way upwards.
The candlelight helped. Everything.
“Hey!” She awakened suddenly, “whatcha think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, I am going to fuck you until the shit falls outa your ass! Whatcha thinka that?”
She pushed and I fell backwards upon the rug. Then I was flat upon my back, thrashing, trying to get up.
“Damned Amazon!” I screamed at her.
-Tales of Ordinary Madness, by Charles Bukowski, has grown on me. Filled with Bukowski’s notorious drunkenness and reclusiveness and humour and womanising assholishness, each raw piece of this short story collection reminds me that writers are human after all. Sometimes we’re so wrapped in the rules of literature that we forget the beauty in imperfection.
I have a feeling that a lot (if not all) of the stories in Tales of Ordinary Madness were unedited and written by Bukowski while he was drunk or high on something. In stories like No Stockings, some of his sentences simply cut short. You can also forget about capital letters and any evidence of harmony; Bukowski’s characters are damned and chaotic. Nonetheless, his stories work; they rattle you.
Tales of Ordinary Madness is definitely my refreshing read for the week. My favourite story in the book? Rape! Rape!
You can find out more about the book online somewhere or buy it straight via Amazon here:
Bye!
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