Bukowski in a Sundress
by Kim AddonizioDear Kim, your book, Bukowski in a Sundress, is such an enjoyable read. The further away we get from the real world, the more we crave to read and share genuine stories about life. What is your antidote to all the airbrushed images of beauty, contrived thoughts, and outrageous lies marketed as undeniable truths? Of course reading and writing are great antidotes. Art, music, friends. People do crave the genuine. At least some people. I’m not sure everyone does. The more I say the word “genuine,” the less I feel like I know what it means. Is that a problem? Maybe it’s inaccurate, but you certainly don’t seem to have the patience to stand for any sort of banner flying movement. You live according to your ideals instead of just preaching them. You defy any borders of constraint by living according to your own terms and loves. What do you see as the most hopeful occurrence in humanity’s many struggles for equality and understanding? That’s very flattering, but I couldn’t possibly live up to all that. I’m happy to fly certain banners. Feminism. Black Lives Matter. I don’t feel all that hopeful about humanity. I guess I feel a sense of hope in the unexpectedness of life. Mostly though, I don’t think we’re going to evolve in time to thrive as a species. I have cheerful thoughts like that all the time. Can I get you a K-tini? |
photo by: Elizabeth Sanderson |
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...Go ahead and have a little more vodka with lemonade and get slightly drunk by dusk. Try to write a few good lines and then give up in despair. Tell yourself you are foolish, feeling terrible when you have actually been asked to share your work with other people. It is the work that you love, and sometimes you even get paid for it. Tell yourself you are lucky, that people envy you. Tell yourself this is what you toiled and sweated your whole life to be able to do, and now you are doing it, and above all, don't be such a goddamned little baby.
"How to Succeed in Po Biz" - Bukowski in a Sundress
"How to Succeed in Po Biz" - Bukowski in a Sundress
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On a lighter note, K-Tini time anytime or only for special occasions?
Every day there are fresh reasons to reach for a K-tini.
In your essay, The Process, you wrote, “There is no time. The hour is upon you…” Do you often think about the brevity of life and simply let life take its course?
It’s part of the writer’s job description to contemplate the brevity of life. Life is going to take its course whether I let it or not. I like the idea of aligning myself with that movement. So, yeah, if you’re thinking you want to write, you’d better get started.
What is the most promising thought you’ve been surprised by as a visiting writer in one of the landscapes that inspired you to write Children of the Corn?
The end of that essay is promising. The turn from criticizing a place to seeing what’s really there, and acknowledging it. And then if I am stuck someplace that’s really shitty, it’s good to remember it’s temporary, and I’m probably getting paid to be there, so I need to shut up about it.
Where is the most peaceful space you turn to rewind, dwell in charming memories, but also get pumped to embrace the future?
Bed. I like bed. Also someplace I can see nature without having to be quite in it, like maybe a swing on a porch, with a view of trees and a river. Or on the river in a canoe. I like the desert, too. All that silence is a presence. I feel at home in the desert, I don’t know why. I’ve only visited. Maybe I’ll move there.
Every day there are fresh reasons to reach for a K-tini.
In your essay, The Process, you wrote, “There is no time. The hour is upon you…” Do you often think about the brevity of life and simply let life take its course?
It’s part of the writer’s job description to contemplate the brevity of life. Life is going to take its course whether I let it or not. I like the idea of aligning myself with that movement. So, yeah, if you’re thinking you want to write, you’d better get started.
What is the most promising thought you’ve been surprised by as a visiting writer in one of the landscapes that inspired you to write Children of the Corn?
The end of that essay is promising. The turn from criticizing a place to seeing what’s really there, and acknowledging it. And then if I am stuck someplace that’s really shitty, it’s good to remember it’s temporary, and I’m probably getting paid to be there, so I need to shut up about it.
Where is the most peaceful space you turn to rewind, dwell in charming memories, but also get pumped to embrace the future?
Bed. I like bed. Also someplace I can see nature without having to be quite in it, like maybe a swing on a porch, with a view of trees and a river. Or on the river in a canoe. I like the desert, too. All that silence is a presence. I feel at home in the desert, I don’t know why. I’ve only visited. Maybe I’ll move there.
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..."God will put a star in your crown for taking care of your mother," the woman across the table said to me. She was wearing a fur coat on her head the first day I saw her. This morning she was spinning in the hall with her arms out, wrapped in a sheet and a pink boa. I had dubbed her Bling-bling because her top front teeth were all gold. For lunch she had changed into a green turban and flowing purple caftan. She looked regal.
I wanted to explain that I hadn't taken care of my mother all that much. I was just the daughter visiting from California. Gary was the caretaker. I was the writer. I would go back to California and try to put my notes into some kind of order, not sure what story I wanted to tell. I would think about reading a poem to my mother in the psych ward, a poem about my brother Jon's liver transplant ten years before, and how she cried, and how I felt I'd made a terrible mistake and caused her greater sadness. But then she wanted to hear it again. Jon was still alive then, and it was a hopeful poem, a poem of gratitude to the person who'd donated his liver so my brother could still have a life...
"Space" - Bukowski in a Sundress
I wanted to explain that I hadn't taken care of my mother all that much. I was just the daughter visiting from California. Gary was the caretaker. I was the writer. I would go back to California and try to put my notes into some kind of order, not sure what story I wanted to tell. I would think about reading a poem to my mother in the psych ward, a poem about my brother Jon's liver transplant ten years before, and how she cried, and how I felt I'd made a terrible mistake and caused her greater sadness. But then she wanted to hear it again. Jon was still alive then, and it was a hopeful poem, a poem of gratitude to the person who'd donated his liver so my brother could still have a life...
"Space" - Bukowski in a Sundress
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Who has given you the most insightful advice on how to succeed?
I don’t remember anyone giving me advice about that. Nobody ever said, “Here’s how to do it.” There is no how, beyond the obvious: read, write, study, learn, fail, keep going. Don’t take yourself too seriously. That’s my advice to myself, because I’m hard on myself.
What are the things that worry you the most?
The current presidential election. Lies and doublespeak. Climate change. The NRA. Finding an affordable place to live in the Bay Area. The rents are fucking insane here now.
What are the best words you’ve heard lately?
Dump Trump.
www.kimaddonizio.com
I don’t remember anyone giving me advice about that. Nobody ever said, “Here’s how to do it.” There is no how, beyond the obvious: read, write, study, learn, fail, keep going. Don’t take yourself too seriously. That’s my advice to myself, because I’m hard on myself.
What are the things that worry you the most?
The current presidential election. Lies and doublespeak. Climate change. The NRA. Finding an affordable place to live in the Bay Area. The rents are fucking insane here now.
What are the best words you’ve heard lately?
Dump Trump.
www.kimaddonizio.com