Factotum

by Charles Bukowski

It was very old dust, coffin dust, it stank of death,

I was a man who thrived on solitude; without it I was like another man without food or water. Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in my solitude; but I was dependent on it.

I felt I was having a vision. I was being visited by hundreds of devils that the Devil Himself couldn’t tolerate.

men become tired. They experience a weariness beyond fatigue. They say mad, brilliant things.

“I’m a writer temporarily down on my inspirations.” “Oh, a writer, eh?” “Yes.” “Are you sure?” “No, I’m not.”

“Love is for real people.” “You sound real.” “I dislike real people.” “You dislike them?” “I hate them.”

“Baby,” I said, “I’m a genius but nobody knows it but me.”