until you can't do anything else but

you have to wait until it 

hurts, until it clangs in 

your ears like the bells 

of hell, until nothing 

else counts but it, until 

it is everything, 

until you can't do any- 

thing else 

but. 

 

then sit down and write 

or stand up and 

write 

but write 

no matter what 

the other people are 

doing, 

no matter what 

they will do to 

you. 

 

lay the line down, 

a party of one, 

what a party, 

swarmed by the 

light, 

the time of the 

times, 

out of the tips of 

your 

fingers. 

 

[Charles Bukowski {1920-1994} 'until it hurts', from Betting on the Muse]