Wondered if we are writing poetry or all huddling in

Pasila 1

Pasila 2

Pasila 3

Pasila 4

Pasila 5

These photographs were taken at the railway station in Pasila, when we were starting our trip north to Kilpisjärvi in Lapland. It was the first time I used the car carrier on the night train, 800 km to Rovaniemi.

I have been reading Hollywood by Bukowski, and like his writing more than ever. Earlier I thought he just pretended to be writing, but now I know he really worked at it. And it is deeper, much deeper than I thought it is. I don't know why it is so that my favorite writers, such as Thomas Bernhard, all seem to be pessimists. Bukowski fits there.

Bukowski filled up his non-writing time with drinking and gambling, and getting into trouble in various ways. Earlier I thought I'm very different from Bukowski, as I drink very little, and I have never even played the lottery. But now I'm not longer sure there is a difference.

(Posting title is from the poem I Am Visited by an Editor and a Poet by Charles Bukowski.)

Dolphin dressed for jungle warfare these inflatables are

Dolphin

I didn't ride the bicycle today. I felt it was too hot for that. Instead I went swimming with my daughter. Swimming reminded me of the discussion about dolphins here in Finland recently. This is how dolphins appear to audiences at Särkänniemi amusement park.

I started to read Bukowski's novel Hollywood today, and it is good. No, it is great. I don't know much about drinking or alcohol. I drink alcohol only a little more than coffee, and coffee I have consumed one cup so far this year. But even though the world of drinking is not familiar to me, the writing of Bukowski is such that the honesty of it, the searing plain truth is such a hit that one can't help feeling breathless.

(Posting title is from the poem This Can’t Be Life by Dana Ward.)

If it doesn't come bursting out of you

Construct

Bicycle

Flags

Fences

Reflect

It rained this morning, and heavy clouds darkened the day. I commuted by bus, reading Post Office, a novel written by Charles Bukowski, and quite a novel it is.

I started reading Bukowski some weeks ago, with a collection of his poems translated into Finnish, and then this novel. I didn't expect much, but this novel was quite an experience, combining the low and high in a rather original way.

(Posting title is from the poem So You Want To Be A Writer by Charles Bukowski.)