Goa Freaks, I'll Miss You

UPDATE FOLLOWS

Today I experienced a tragedy... the death of a book. This wasn't just any book, but my most valued book. I have many books that I value for different reasons. This is one I didn't place monetary value on, nor is it a particularly valuable book in general. However, this one had such sentiment attached to it, that I couldn't even dispose of it on my own... I enlisted the help of another person, and still shed tears as he walked away with it.

A few hours later, and a slight bit stronger, I at least snapped a quick picture of my soon-to-be-gone prized possession. As I write this, the book sits in the nearby recycling bin. The book suffered death by mold, after a tragic water accident. I did try to save the book, using towels and a heater, but there was not a dry page in the book. After several days of attempting to save the destruction of the book, I hid it from myself. I supposed I hoped that when I found it again, it would have been restored to it's original beauty. I knew better, and this morning - I sadly came across the book with varying colors of mold and mildew; black, pink, green... quite a colorful display of damage.

The book was Goa Freaks: My Hippie Years in India, a true account of life, boldly written by Cleo Odzer. It latched onto me in a way no other book has ever done. In fact, I spent about three days reading this book, stopping only to eat. I didn't intentionally sleep while I was reading the book, but a few times, I was awakened to the sound of the book hitting the floor, and once - woke up with it covering my face. At the time, I didn't care to sleep, I just wanted to read... Each page brought me closer to the end of the book, which even caused me a slight amount of distress, knowing that I would no longer even be a distant spectator in the world of the Goa Freaks.

UPDATE:
Powell's Books, of Portland, Oregon, (or as some people refer to them, Book Mecca), carried two copies at a reasonable price of only $8.95 plus S&H. What an amazing deal!! But sorry fans and hopeful future readers, you're going to have to find your own copies... Those two are gone! 

The Story that Popped My Bukowski Cherry

I had heard the name before... Bukowski. I thought that by the type of friends of mine who had mentioned Bukowski, that I had him sized up as an authour... but not so. Not so, at all, in fact.

Having stumbled across a very thin, almost comic-book-sized, short story book in a store in the valley, (and one of my favorite secret-find-stores in the Los Angeles vicinity), I was unexpectedly exposed to the raw edge of Charles Bukowski, in all of his glory. I picked up a slender book-let called, "Bring Me Your Love", and what a splendid book to have had the honour of popping my cherry. My Bukowski cherry, that is. You see, I am guilty of having lived over 30 years without having knowingly read any of Bukowski's work. That will change, as I have added several other of Charles Bukowski's books to my collection over the past few weeks... Now, If only I had time to get through the ever-growing-stack of books I plan to read...