#1973 #AmericanWriters #AtTerrorStreetAndAgonyWay #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame
welcome to my wormy hell. the music grinds off-key. fish eyes watch from the wall. this is where the last happy shot… fired.
Fay was pregnant. But it didn’t change her and it didn’t change the post office either. The same clerks did all the work while the miscellaneous crew stood around and argued about sport...
I walked into the counselor’s office. It was Eddie Beaver sitting behind the desk. The clerks called him “Skinny Beaver.” He had a pointed head, pointed nose, pointed chin. He was all p...
think of de vils in hell and stare at a beautiful vase of flowers as the woman in my bedroom
stuck in the rain on the freeway,… these are the lucky ones, these ar… dutifully employed, most with thei… as possible as they try not to thi… this is our new civilization: as m…
over my radio now comes the sound of a truly mad org… can see some monk drunk in a cellar mind gone or found,
he carried a piece of carbon, a blade and a whip and at night he feared his head and covered it with blankets
sit on this bench and look at the sea and the freaks and the lovers. need new eyes a new mouth new pillows, a new woman.
I have been looking at the same lampshade for 5 years and it has gathered
the phone rang at 1:30 a.m. and it was a man from Denver: “Chinaski, you got a following in Denver...” “yeah?”
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...
of late I’ve had this thought that this country has gone backwards or 5 de cades
you won’t see them often for wherever the crowd is they are not. those odd ones, not
no we can’t we can’t win it I’ve decided we can’t win it just for a while we thought we cou… but that was just for a while
I get many phonecalls now. They are all alike. “are you Charles Bukowski, the writer?” “yes,” I tell them.