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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354568" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>About My Very Tortured Friend, Peter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">he lives in a house with a swimming pool <br>and says the job is <br>killing him. <br>he is 27. I am 44. I can’t seem to <br>get rid of <br>him. his novels keep coming <br>back. “what do you expect me to do?” he screams <br>“go to New York and pump the hands of the <br>publishers?” <br>“no,” I tell him, “but quit your job, go into a <br>small room and do the <br>thing.” <br>“but I need ASSURANCE, I need something to <br>go by, some word, some sign!” <br>“some men did not think that way: <br>Van Gogh, Wagner—” <br>“oh hell, Van Gogh had a brother who gave him <br>paints whenever he <br>needed them!” </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“look,” he said, “I’m over at this broad’s house today and <br>this guy walks in. a salesman. you know <br>how they talk. drove up in this new <br>car. talked about his vacation. said he went to <br>Frisco—saw Fidelio up there but forgot who <br>wrote it. now this guy is 54 years <br>old. so I told him: ‘Fidelio is Beethoven’s only <br>opera.’ and then I told <br>him: ‘you’re a jerk!’ ‘whatcha mean?’ he <br>asked. ‘I mean, you’re a jerk, you’re 54 years old and <br>you don’t know anything!’” </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“what happened <br>then?” <br>“I walked out.” <br>“you mean you left him there with <br>her?” <br>“yes.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“I can’t quit my job,” he said. “I always have trouble getting a <br>job. I walk in, they look at me, listen to me talk and <br>they think right away, ah ha! he’s too intelligent for <br>this job, he won’t stay <br>so there’s really no sense in hiring <br>him. <br>now, YOU walk into a place and you don’t have any trouble: <br>you look like an old wino, you look like a guy who needs a <br>job and they look at you and they think: <br>ah ha!: now here’s a guy who really needs work! if we hire <br>him he’ll stay a long time and work <br>HARD!” </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>“do any of those people,” he asks “know you are a <br>writer, that you write poetry?” <br>“no.” <br>“you never talk about <br>it. not even to <br>me! if I hadn’t seen you in that magazine I’d <br>have never known.” <br>“that’s right.” <br>“still, I’d like to tell these people that you are a <br>writer.” <br>“I’d still like to <br>tell them.” <br>“why?” <br>“well, they talk about you. they think you are just a <br>horseplayer and a drunk.” <br>“I am both of those.” <br>“well, they talk about you. you have odd ways. you travel alone. <br>I’m the only friend you <br>have.” <br>“yes.” <br>“they talk you down. I’d like to defend you. I’d like to tell <br>them you write <br>poetry.” <br>“leave it alone. I work here like they <br>do. we’re all the same.” <br>“well, I’d like to do it for myself then. I want them to know why <br>I travel with <br>you. I speak 7 languages, I know my music—” <br>“forget it.” <br>“all right, I’ll respect your <br>wishes. but there’s something else—” <br>“what?” <br>“I’ve been thinking about getting a <br>piano. but then I’ve been thinking about getting a <br>violin too but I can’t make up my <br>mind!” <br>“buy a piano.” <br>“you think <br>so?” <br>“yes.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>he walks away <br>thinking about <br>it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I was thinking about it <br>too: I figure he can always come over with his <br>violin and more <br>sad music.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Bukowski">Charles Bukowski</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354568" data-title="About My Very Tortured Friend, Peter de Charles Bukowski" data-description="he lives in a house with a swimming pool 
and says the job is 
killing him. 
he is 27. I am 44. I can’t seem to 
get rid of 
him. his novels keep coming 
back. “what do you expect me to do?” he screams 
“go to New York and pump the hands o..."></div>
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