#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
I don’t know how it happens to people. I had child support, need for something to drink, rent, shoes, shirts, socks, all that stuff. Like everyone else I needed an old car, something to...
twitching in the sheets— to face the sunlight again, that’s clearly trouble. I like the city better when the
dying has its rough edge. no escaping now. the warden has his eye on me. his bad eye. I’m doing hard time now.
she writes: you’ll be moaning and groaning in your poems about how I fucked those 2 guys last week.
I sit here on the 2nd floor hunched over in yellow pajamas still pretending to be a writer.
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.
I am in this low—slung sports car painted a deep, rich yellow driving under an Italian sun. I have a British accent. I’m wearing dark shades
he used to sell papers in front: Get your winners! Get rich on a d… and about the 3rd or 4th race you’d see him rolling in on his ro… with roller skates underneath.
I am watching a girl dressed in a light green sweater, blue shorts,… there is a necklace of some sort but her breasts are small, poor th… and she watches her nails
30 dogs, 20 men on 20 horses and o… and look here, they write, you are a dupe for the state, the… you are in the ego-dream, read your history, study the monet…
Making love in the sun, in the mor… in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun
Lydia’s sister Angela came to town from Utah to see Lydia’s new house. Lydia had made a down payment on a little place and the monthly payments were very low. It was a very good buy. Th...
That evening the phone rang. It was Mercedes. I had met her after giving a poetry reading at Venice Beach. She was about 28, fair body, pretty good legs, a blonde about 5~feet-5, a blue...
drinking German beer and trying to come up with the immortal poem at 5 p.m. in the afternoon. but, ah, I’ve told the
Sam the whorehouse man has squeaky shoes and he walks up and down the court squeaking and talking to