#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
“You ought to try to be like Abe Mortenson,” said my mother, “he gets straight A’s. Why can’t you ever get any A’s?” “Henry is dead on his ass,” said my father. “Sometimes I can’t belie...
one of the terrible things is really being in bed night after night with a woman you no longer
big sloppy wounded dog hit by a car and walking toward the curbing making enormous sounds
yes, it’s dark in here. can’t open the door. can’t open the jam lid. can’t find a pair of socks that ma… was born in Andernach in 1920 and…
I think of automobiles parked in a parking lot when I think of myself dead I think of frying pans when I think of myself dead
there are many single women in the… with one or two or three children and one wonders where the husbands have gone or where the lovers have gone
A sound awakened me. It was not quite daylight. Cecelia was moving around getting dressed. I looked at my watch. “I want to watch the sun come up. I love sunrises!” “I haven’t been able...
she writes continually like a long nozzle spraying the air,
no one is sorry I am leaving, not even I; but there should be a minstrel or at least a glass of wine. bothers the young most, I think:
I met a genius on the train today about 6 years old, he sat beside me and as the train
little dark girl with kind eyes when it comes time to use the knife I won’t flinch and
the canaries were there, and the l… and the old woman with warts; and I was there, a child and I touched the piano keys as they talked—
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.
out of the arms of one love and into the arms of another I have been saved from dying on th… by a lady who smokes pot writes songs and stories,
There were continual fights. The teachers didn’t seem to know anything about them. And there was always trouble when it rained. Any boy who brought an umbrella to school or wore a rainc...