Bukowski is like a drunk philosopher who accidentally stumbles upon truth while looking for another drink. His philosophy is different from that of any other philosopher — it comes directly from his raw, messy, lived experience rather than from detached observation of reality. While other philosophers sit on mountains or in quiet rooms, observing and reflecting on the world, Bukowski dived headfirst into it. He didn’t just watch the chaos; he lived it, wrestled with it, and occasionally laughed at it with a bottle in hand.

In Factotum (1975), there’s a particular passage that stopped me in my tracks. Bukowski writes:

“How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?”

What a masterpiece of existential despair! And yet, it’s also a wake-up call — quite literally. Bukowski isn’t just complaining here; he’s exposing the absurdity of a life lived on autopilot, dictated by systems and routines that offer no nourishment for the soul.

The Dance of Absurdity

You see, Bukowski may have cursed the alarm clock, but I say the alarm clock is doing its best to save you. Every beep is a reminder, not just to wake up from sleep, but to wake up from the slumber of your own unconsciousness. Why leap out of bed in terror, as though your boss were a god waiting to strike you down for being late? Why force-feed yourself cereal as if breakfast were an act of survival rather than a moment of joy?

The problem is not the routine itself — it’s that we’ve forgotten the art of playfulness. Life, my dear friend, is a cosmic joke, but you’re taking it far too seriously. Instead of rushing to the office to make money for somebody else, why not laugh at the absurdity of it all?

24 Hours in Front of You

Thich Nhat Hanh often spoke about the gift of 24 brand-new hours in front of you each day. Imagine that — 24 hours, a blank canvas, filled with potential. What you choose to do with those hours can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. The act of waking up doesn’t need to be a frantic rush toward deadlines; it can be a gentle reminder to appreciate life’s simple wonders. That first sip of coffee, the feel of the morning air, the sunlight streaming through your window — these are moments that invite mindfulness, not mindlessness.

Reclaim Your 6:30 A.M.

So tomorrow, when the alarm clock rings, do something revolutionary. Don’t leap out of bed like a soldier summoned to duty. Instead, lie there for a moment and smile. Say to yourself, “Here we go again — another chance to enjoy these 24 hours in front of me.” And if you must go to work, bring Bukowski’s irreverence and Thich Nhat Hanh’s mindfulness with you. Turn every mundane task into an act of appreciation. Live not as a slave to the system but as a mindful participant in the dance of life.

Because the real freedom is not in quitting your job or smashing your alarm clock; it’s in realising that even at 6:30 a.m., you have a choice. The choice to live, to breathe, and to see the absurdity for what it is — a cosmic invitation to wake up, not just from sleep, but from the dream of a life unlived.