I don’t want a long funeral
procession when I die.
I want to move on without weight
I want just the sullen darkness I want
a tomb like this night now:
me here undiluted—
solid, cranky, immaculate.
I hold fast to me. that’s all there
Charles Bukowski, “thoughts from a stone beach in Venice”
Simply to be recognized for what I was, simply not to be misunderstood: these had revealed themselves, suddenly, as reasons to write.