Baby, I Can Get Dirty…But I'm a Realist

I've been reading a lot of Charles Bukowski lately, so needless to say, I've been employing the f-word gratuitously, in all of its grammatical forms, in most everything I've written in the last month.

Thanks to Bill Buford, his works of literary criticism, and Granta magazine, I've discovered the genre of "dirty realism."

I think I've finally found the niche of literature where I belong:

You see, the soul of dirty realism rests in society's undeniable underbelly…it is composed of the car thieves, the unwed teenage mothers, the presence of drugs, booze, sex, and rock n roll, and the tipoff thoughts from the average human being--thoughts that acknowledge his poor decisions, downfalls, short comings, and the shit that he keeps locked away for the sake of living life as if it were as clean and reputable as we'd all like to believe…even for the most upright, outstanding of people.

Being a dirty realist means writing eloquently, but savagely. You have to direct your audience's gaze to the crassness of the world around them, beat them over the head with the blunt and lewd details pertaining to all things they'd much rather were not referenced in polite conversation, and, you have to do so with the suggestion that you're not only well-versed, having once or twice stared this debauchery straight in the eye, but also remain completely emotionally detached to the point of laughing in the face of everything that's wrong with this world.

In short, dirty realism is about grabbing what is grody, unfortunate, and unpleasant, and shoving it head-on into the spotlight, while holding up a sign in the background that reads, "There you go, people. You don't have to embrace it, but you sure as hell should admit that it exists. Now laugh already, you douchebags. You're ugly, nobody likes you, and your mom dresses you funny."

Like I said, I was made for this genre. I watch enough Californication that the rest of my literary career should be a walk in the park, right?


That being said, if you like some dirty poetry, or just a couple of gems that I haven't copy-pasted from over here, you should check out Heart on the Sleeve Quarterly.
(I've now exhausted all online media outlets…am I a rockstar yet?)