Best Glug

I put off reading Bukowski. He'd already influenced a bunch of bands I was into. My descent into alcoholism didn't need the encouragement. When you're drowning, you realise the gravity of Bukowski's grace. The bold, deep, backbone in the artist serves as a kind of cross from which the arms were ripped in a moment of sincerity. You glance down at your feet to discover the bones of four large white knuckles protruding from the sand. It's glancing back up, into the glare of the sun, that you recognise best the shiny piece atop the mast as a fingernail. You wipe the sweat from your brow, snigger and spit in the blood.

*Watermark does not appear on product
**Original drawing available