16 mars 2012
The Earth Rose 1. Santa Monica: Privately published, 1966. Edited by Steve Richmond. Folio. Broadside, folded as issued. Tabloid format, with "FUCK HATE" printed in huge bold letters on the cover.
"FUCK HATE" était le slogan saignant de la seule et unique édition de "Earth Rose Press" proclamant également: "Par la présente et en ce jour, nous, créateurs doués de raison nous autorisons à déclarer aux classes dirigeantes : ALLEZ VOUS FAIRE FOUTRE DANS LA BOUCHE, nous avons entendu assez de vos conneries ! ", signé simplement: les Etres de Beauté. Publié par Bukowski et son compatriote Steve 'madwriter' Richmond, ils seront plus tard jugés pour obscénité par les tribunaux ordonnant ainsi l'arrêt immédiat de la publication.
Via www.runwiththehunted.com: "FUCK HATE" was the meaty headline in the one and only edition of Earth Rose Press which incorporated the following sentiment: "Whereby, on this day we able minded creators do hereby tell you the establishment: FUCK YOU IN THE MOUTH, WE’VE HEARD ENOUGH OF YOUR BULLSHIT", signed simply: beings of beauty. Published by Bukowski and fellow madwriter Steve Richmond, they were later judged obscene by the courts and ordered to cease printing. If exposing the truth of things is or was Beat/Meat, I guess that he certainly qualified then as both. If his religion was beer, wine, honest violence, the struggle to love in a world gone quite mad with itself, a beedie, or the medicinal effect of classical music; then his temple was the track. His pulpit a set of typewriter or computer keys waiting for the assault. Thrown off French t.v. for being shitfaced and obnoxious on the air, he was an instant star in Europe; the man called it the way it came. No spit on the ball, he threw it right over the plate and caught them looking every time. Maybe he was Beat because he was uniquely a man of his own time unlike any other. He just fucking didn’t seem to care, but when going thru his words you find nothing but heart, heart, and more heart. Meat. However, to write or talk about it like I do now is absurd because he spent his life telling you in his own words universal, and they speak for themselves.... FROM...CHARLES BUKOWSKI LIVES by S. A. Griffin