Charles Bukowski, "The Dirty Old Man," sums up much of the push-pull argument I have with myself in this post-graduate, job-centric period of life in his poem "The Laughing Heart." The fact that Tom Waits reads it is just the cherry. This poem is optimistic and idllyic, which somewhat counters, I feel, Bukowski's "dirty realist" outlook on life. The words show his romantic and hopeful side. He communicates that side of me, and the countless others who have goals that don't fit within the harsh confines of the working world.
Everything is being digitized and monetized. Everything is getting faster. People want fast and cheap. Attention spans are diminishing. Modernized working skills are what outfit the fittest in this new society. Sometimes it feels as though old art forms are fading into the irrelevant. Ambitions are replaced with anxiety and panic attacks over making a living. Ambitions are redirected. Reading "The Laughing Heart" calms me and instills an individualist pursuit to find more in life. Or at least to find a balance that satisfies the laughing heart. I find that Bukowski submits to the fact that without work we cannot live, and the starving artist persona is not at all attractive. He implores the reader to be on the watch for opportunities that afford a little light.
When I first heard of the writer's gravestone reading: "Don't try" I thought he must have believed himself to be a failure - that writing more often than not dead ends. "The Laughing Heart" corrects this assumption, saying that you should know what makes you happy, do it, and look for the opportunities that illuminate the happiness. It may not even lead anywhere, but at least it gave your shitty life a little bit of spark.
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