Bukowski warned us:
never take a course in creative
writing
it's the perfect cure for
creativity
I should have realized it
as I went down the steps into the
moldy old basement
which wasn't fucking fucked
but alternative, slipper-wearing,
I-feel-you, can't do shit,
fuck-off feminist threats on the
bathroom door
"EVERYBODY MUST SIT DOWN"
as if a woman would suddenly get
the urge
to take a piss standing up
The instructor was not humorless,
no, he was humor-resistent
blathering "Show, don't
tell" constantly
which didn't mean
that we were supposed to take our
clothes off
which would have given the whole
bullshit a bit of interest
If this day were a country, it'd
be Belgium, that's what went through my head
even the worst day in my entire
life was better
than the best moment in this
weekend workshop in Vienna
If only I had listened to old
Buk,
I wouldn’t have had to throw
myself into the Danube
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