A fan letter
Dear Bukoswki, I know you’re dead. It’s okay, so many people are dead: my father is dead, my grandma is dead, my uncle-in-law is dead. Even Lemmy is dead! I’ll be dead in 40 years, at most. But still, it doesn’t matter. I’ve read all your novels and stories, many of your poems, and I’ve even listened to your readings. That’s why I wanted to write to you: I take you as a friend. Anyhow, I’m writing this letter to ask for some advice. I’m feeling confused, Charles. I don’t know what the hell is going on with me—or with the world itself. I don’t have any answers, and probably not even the right questions, but with all your wisdom maybe you can enlighten me. Here’s how I feel, dear Hank: I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen. Something big—something that would give meaning to my life. No one ever promised, or even said, that anything important would happen to me, but I still wait anyway. Something that would put some joy in the air, some excitement, some gamble. Something th...