#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
the balance is preserved by the sn… the Santa Monica cliffs; the luck is in walking down Wester… and having the girls in a massage parlor holler at you, “Hello, Swe…
That night I gave another bad reading. I didn’t care. They didn’t care. If John Cage could get one thousand dollars for eating an apple, I’d accept $500 plus air fare for being a lemon....
After 3 years I made “regular.” That meant holiday pay (subs didn’t get paid for holidays) and a 40 hour week with 2 days off. The Stone was also forced to assign me as relief man to 5 ...
I am driving down Wilton Avenue when this girl of about 15 dressed in tight blue jeans that grip her behind like two hand… steps out in front of my car
the wind blows hard to night and it’s a cold wind and I think about the boys on the row. hope some of them have a bottle
at the hospital that I have been going to the nurses seem overweight. they are bulky in their
This will refer to the letter addressed to you dated August 17, 1969, proposing your suspension without pay for three days or other disciplinary action, based on Charge No. 1 specified ...
Graduation Day. We filed in with our caps and gowns to “Pomp and Circumstance.” I suppose that in our three years we must have learned something. Our ability to spell had probably impro...
a great white light dawns across t… continent as we fawn over our failed traditi… often kill to preserve them or sometimes kill just to kill.
At 3:30 a.m. my twelve hours were… I set the alarm so that I would b… “What happened, Hank? We thought… “I’m quitting.” “Quitting?” “Yes, you can’t blame a man for wa…
R.O.T.C. kept me away from sports while the other guys practiced every day. They made the school teams, won their letters and got the girls. My days were spent mostly marching around in...
my goldfish stares with watery eye… into the hemisphere of my sorrow; upon the thinnest of threads we hang together, hang hang hang
yesterday drunken Alice gave me a jar of fig jam and today she whistles
the virus holds the concepts give way like rotten shoelaces toothache and bacon dance on the lawn
I get many phonecalls now. They are all alike. “are you Charles Bukowski, the writer?” “yes,” I tell them.