#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
I have seen an old man around town… carrying an enormous pack. he uses a walking stick and moves up and down the streets with this pack strapped to his bac…
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.
there he is: not too many hangovers not too many fights with women not too many flat tires never a thought of suicide
I went to this place to see a movi… on tv Alexander the Great, and here come the armies ta ta ta
self-congratulatory nonsense as th… famous gather to applaud their see… greatness you wonder where
the critics now have me drinking champagne and driving a BMW and also married to a socialite from
half drunk I left her place her warm blankets and I was hungover didn’t even know what town
god I got the sad blue blues, this woman sat there and she said are you really Charles Bukowski?
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,
Tammie came by that night. She appeared to be high on uppers. “I want some champagne,” she said. Then the phone rang. It was Lydia. “I just wondered how you were doing. ...” “You know D...
Two mornings later, at 4 am, somebody beat on the door. I let Tammie in. She sat down and I opened a couple of beers. “I’ve got bad breath, I have these two bad teeth. You can’t kiss me...
my doctor has just come into his o… from surgery. he meets me in the men’s john. “God damn,” he says to me, “where did you find her? oh, I jus…
he was easy, fat as a hummingbird and I had him blowing, I jabbed and crossed and took my t… everybody was waiting for the main… drinking beer, and I was thinking
what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light
places to hunt places to hide are getting harder to find, and pet canaries and goldfish too, did you… that?