#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
the cops want me to come down and… some guy who tried to rape me. I’ve lost the key to my car again;… the key to open the door but not t… to start it.
is a highrise apt. next door and he beats her at night and she… and I see her the next day standing in the driveway with curl… and she has her huge buttocks jamm…
he sits all day at the bus stop at Sunset and Western his sleeping bag beside him. he’s dirty. nobody bothers him.
she’s from Texas and weighs 103 pounds and stands before the mirror combing oceans of reddish hair
swans die in the Spring too and there it floated dead on a Sunday sideways circling in the current
yes, they begin out in a willow, I… the starch mountains begin out in… and keep right on going without re… pumas and nectarines somehow these mountains are like
Sam the whorehouse man has squeaky shoes and he walks up and down the court squeaking and talking to
the men phone and ask me that. are you really Charles Bukowski the writer? they ask. I’m a sometimes writer, I say, most often I don’t do anything.
the rag. she sat there, glooming. I couldn’t do anything with her. it was raining. she got up and left.
strange warmth, hot and cold femal… I make good love, but love isn’t j… sex. most females I’ve known are ambitious, and I like to lie aroun… on large comfortable pillows at 3…
“you know,” she said, “you were at the bar so you didn’t see but I danced with this guy. we danced and we danced close.
big sloppy wounded dog hit by a car and walking toward the curbing making enormous sounds
There was death in that place on the hill. I knew it the first day I walked out the screen door and into the backyard. A zing– ing binging buzzing whining sound came right at me: 10,000...
The next day Katherine phoned me. She said she had the tickets and would be landing at L.A. International Friday at 2:30 pm. “Katherine,” I said, “there’s something I’ve got to tell you...
I remember the Model-T. Sitting high, the running boards seemed friendly, and on cold days, in the mornings, and often at other times, my father had to fit the hand-crank into the front...