Multi-tasking

Once again, Erik has put me to shame. He's vowed to walk ten miles per day, everyday, until he leaves for Japan. How on earth does he do it? Work full time, make wonderful art, blog, and train every day. By being organized, focused, and dedicated, that's how. I, on the other hand, have never been very good at multi-tasking. Last week I was inspired to work on my memoir. I wrote like a demon, getting through most of 2001, which was quite an achievement (it was an eventful year), but everything else suffered. Work, blogging, walking all took a back seat.

Speaking of multi-tasking, last night I sat down and watched Bukowski: Born Into This, a feature-length documentary about the poet and novelist Charles Bukowski. Bukowski managed to be a drunkard, a womanizer, a postal worker, and an incredibly prolific writer all at the same time. Like Guy Debord, he seemed to spend most of his life in varying states of inebriation. And like Debord, he was accused of being a misogynist. He denied the accusation. He said he loved women. In fact he spent a lot of time researching them for one of his novels, Women. But during one astonishing, booze-fueled interview included in the documentary, Bukowski, beer bottle in hand, lashes out both verbally and physically at his then wife, who's seated next to him on the sofa, first claiming she, like all his other girlfriends, had taken advantage of his kind nature, then threatening to hire a "Jew lawyer" to get rid of her, and finally pummeling her with his bare feet like a petulant child. So, a misogynist and an anti-Semite.

I have a bit of a weakness for artists who not only have seriously flawed personalities, but also have no qualms about parading their flaws in public. It's reassuring to look at them and think, I know I've got my problems, but at least I'm not as messed up as that guy. Or, Hey, he's more messed up than me, but he still managed to become a great artist. I guess it helps if you're also incredibly talented. I've never read any Bukowski. But the documentary ended with the following poem, read I think by the author himself, which took my breath away. Not that I wept or anything.

Bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Distance walked today: 16.2km
Maximum altitude reached: 365m
Total distance walked since blog began: 511.2km
Days left until launch of Kisokaido Project: 58