You Win, Charles.

Does anyone have a favorite poem that they still have a hard time reading?

Not because you're a thundering idiot who doesn't read well, but because it's just that powerful.

That's how I feel every time I read Charles Bukowski's "Roll the Dice".

It is simple and elegant, which is ironic because Charles was anything but.

No, the man drank and slept his way through his good years and out of this bleakness came some great stories and poems. The drunker he was, the more gripping his work was.

I've been moved by this single poem so many times, to the point that I feel rejuvenated whenever I read it or hear it spoken on a video.

Hearing Lex Fridman, the world's most advanced "robot", read it on a podcast is one of my favorite clips to rewatch on YouTube.

https://youtu.be/rnfAVasBkQc

I felt inspired to write a poem about my challenges with understanding just what the hell this drunk man was trying to tell me, even after reading it so many times.

Who knew that a hammered Bukowski could outsmart anyone?

I've posted this poem on Medium and also shared it on the Substack newsletter, but I feel like it would fit well to be the first post here on the website.

The poem is a homage to what Bukowski's work means to me, a new and terrible writer who is sifting through all the shit, to become a little less terrible.

I think each writer should have a poem and pay homage to it.

It's just a simple thanks from one writer to another.

I hope you enjoy.

You Win, Charles.

“Go All the Way.”

That sounds a lot easier said than done.

This line made famous by Charle Bukowski in his poem, Roll the Dice, haunts me.

I go back once in a while, to read it. To try to understand it.

I’ve faced the isolation. I don’t see how this is a gift.

I’ve faced a bit of mockery and rejection from my writing. I don’t feel any better. I don’t feel a bit stronger from it.

I wonder how drunk Charles was when he put this together. Maybe if he placed the bottle down, he would have seen the displeasure that comes with endurance.

That’s maybe why he has a better attitude than I.

Maybe that’s why he made it as a writer.

Here I am, looking for a deeper answer when it comes to reading this stinkin’ poem. The answer to life is somewhere in there.

The problem is that the answer has been there forever. It’s in the first line of the damn poem!

“If you’re going to try, go all the way.”

I feel like I'm reading this for the first time ever, only after “reading” it hundreds of times.

I mean, I’ve been trying this writing thing for 5 months and I feel like I still have so far to go.

How impatient I am to want to become a great writer?

How arrogant I am, to believe that my current work should be praised.

Nonsense!

I haven’t gone all the way. If I did, I wouldn’t be complaining about the brain fog, the numbing on my fingers, or the proofreading sessions.

If I was going all the way, I would be glad to have all the time in the world to type and think.

To be able to say, “Here world, read my work and gut it alive. I know it’s mediocre, but I’ll keep trying to make it better.”

Now that I think about it, is it any harder to write now than it was 5 months ago? No. 5 months is nothing.

The only thing that should really haunt me is that I didn’t write more sooner, but I’ll have plenty of time to cry about it when I’m withering in a hospital bed.

Okay, Charles; I’ll go all the way.

I'll go all the way.

You win.