This poem makes me laugh, he was bob on, oh to escape the procrastinator, but it is also true as he says that creation batters its way out of us quite brutally when it wants to, you never know quite what you’ll end up with, but you do know it needs feeding and by the Gods of all sizes . . . it, will, out**

Air and Light and Time and Space by Charles Bukowski

‘- you know, I’ve either had a family, a job, something
has always been in the
way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have a place and
the time to
create.’
no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on
welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your
body blown
away,
you’re going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquakes, bombardment,
flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.

.
.
.
.

**The following is from one of Esme’s collection on this very theme (just the end of the poem)

This is writing.
This is acting.
This is painting.
It’s art.
This is living creation that tears you apart.
It’s a purge and a joy within us that shouts
And, much like Lady Macbeth’s bloodied hands . . . it, will, out.