I’m out here sitting in the dark listening to the bugs and the little toads out here in the woods,
staring at the night sky looking at the stars and I’m imagining my dad up there talking to Bukowski
the poet, novelist. I just see my dad talking to Bukowski saying, “Hey man, he’s you, so I need you to send
more Bukowski stuff so he can watch and be inspired and do something. I’m not gonna let my kid just sit
there and be a nobody. He’s gotta do something even if he’s a fuckup and from that fuckup he’s gotta rise
and do some bullshit, cause he’s my son.”