There was once an old Buddhist monk.
One day he wrote himself a letter:
“You have done a wonderful job in
this life. Tbe Pure Land (paradise)
awaits. Love, Budda”
This inspired me to request an email
I asked her to pls send word expressing
her undying love for me. Either that or
an email deriding me for being a repulsive
pervert. I asked her to surprise me with the
truth. Her usual charge for a vid is 20 to 30.
Let’s see what she says.
— fb
I try texting this doll face
I’d enjoyed some dances from
At a hole in the wall club
Years ago. Absurd, I know.
Then I get the inevitable
reply: “Who is this?” Without
punctuation of any kind.
The reply opens up a
Pandora’s box of worms.
So I leave the lid closed.
A few minutes later I get
a cryptic text from a different
Number with a different area
Code:
in a long time how have
you been” I reply: “Who is
this please?” A few minutes
later: “Is this not Elly? This is
Danielle. Don’t you remember?”
And that reply came with a pic
of a professionally dressed cute
Asian lady. What are the chances
I smirk and sigh. Like Charlie
Brown with the football I have
to try. Long story short a few
texts later I determine the sender to
Be a scammer unrelated to the
baby faced black girl from the
trap.
Who is this? Who is this?
It’s the question Emperor Wu
Asked the Bodhidharma.
It’s the question Jesus asked
his apostles. The question we
ask of someone we thought
we knew until…
and it’s the question
I ask you
and myself
too
–Fyodor Bukowski
Buy my novel on Amazon.
a tatted teen pulled a pointy guitar
off the wall, plugged in and shredded
away with tapped arpeggios, 3 note per
string runs, power chords, etc. It was all
too fast for me but dizzyingly well done.
nobody said anything after he
stopped playing. The cabbage patch girl
had been busy with her phone
behing the counter and the
shoppers were too occupied with
their own rock star dreams
to care enough to say anything
either. I pulled a steel-bodied
guitar off the wall, sat on the
stool, and played some 30’s
ragtime and then some Lightning
Hopkins licks with my index and
middle fingers while my thumb
beat out a bass rhythm. No one
gave a glance and Cabbage
Patch behind the counter
thinking no one was looking,
bent over and
shot a selfie of her fat
round ass.
–fb
Sure, you can claim that beauty Is subjective, etc. But that’s only True to a limited degree. There are beautiful types and vice versa in any human society, and the love they get far outweighs that bestowed upon the unlovely. Well, I guess I know what it is to be both and neither. There have been those who’ve considered me attractive, and a few still do. But since I’ve spent most of my life alone, unloved by most I was attracted to, I have to recognize that I am one of the unlovely. Well, it’s not the worst fate that
Can befall a human being. Lacking attractive force is like lacking one of the senses. A person who is unloved by those he or she could love romantically has more time to study, to express, to self-actualize really. And time enough is no small consolation prize. Lacking attractiveness can lead to a heightening of the empathetic-sense. Look at those who help out our fellow creatures of the not-so-human kind. And while it won’t win you or me the love of any super-models (no matter what some will claim), or get either of us 10,000 likes, empathy, sweet empathy, is a kind of beauty too.
— FB
Heard another thinker
today bemoan the sight
of peasants in a far-
flung country gazing
at their new cell phone
screens, “even at the
dinner table.” He went
on in his keening,
philosophical tone
to expound on the
idea that an actual
reality is better than
a virtual one. Well,
all things being equal,
who can argue that
flesh and breath can
be beat by transmitted
images, words, and
sounds? But if this
thinker had to meet
and then interact
with the absurd
excuses for humanity
who have poisoned
most of my days with
their senseless presence,
he might think differently.
Those who just happen
to meet people they
resonate with and
are attracted to in
their actual lives
can easily believe
that some higher
force placed those
people in their
path for some
grand purpose
or even just to
make them happy.
But for many of us,
that’s not how it
plays out; again
and again, we
waste our days
(and sometimes
nights too) in the
presence of those
who spark only
disgust or can’t
hear our words.
So if the Fates or
Big Daddy in the
Sky keeps casting
our lives with cheap
extras and villians
instead of the
superstars we
all long to to be
loved (or at least
liked) by, then
the heck with
superficial
condemnations
of those
technologies
which show us
that there are
people out there
who can hear our
words and see us
how we dream to
be seen.
–By Fyodor Bokowski, author of Mail-Order Annie
Musings, Mutterings, and Condemnations 