the rooms at the hospital went for 550 a day. that was for the room alone. the amazing thing, though, was tha… in some of the rooms

great writer remains in bed shades down doesn’t want to see anyone doesn’t want to write anymore doesn’t want to try anymore;

I took Tammie. We got there a little early and went to a bar across the street. We got a table. “Now don’t drink too much, Hank. You know how you slur your words and miss your lines whe...

On the elevator up, I was the only white man there. It seemed strange. They talked about the riots, not looking at me. “Jesus,” said a coal black guy, "it’s really something. These guys...

sick with the flu drinking beer my radio on loud enough to overcome the sounds of the

shot off his left ear then his right, and then tore off his belt buckle with hot lead, and then

bet on #6, I try red, I stare at… wonder what Chekhov would do, and… blue plates sit eating the carnage… and look very much like Russians a… my left tit and try to smile like…

That night I managed to get 2 or 3 drinks into Cecelia. She forgot herself and crossed her legs high and I saw some good heavy flank. Durable. A cow of a woman, cow’s breasts, cow’s eye...

what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light

think of the beds used again and again to fuck in to die in. in this land

swans die in the Spring too and there it floated dead on a Sunday sideways circling in the current

yeah sure, I’ll be in unless I’m… don’t knock if the lights are out or you hear voices or then I might be reading Proust if someone slips Proust under my d…

During the second and third grades I still didn’t get a chance to play baseball but I knew that somehow I was developing into a player. If I ever got a bat in my hands again I knew I wo...

all right, while we are gently cel… and while crazy classical music le… my small radio, I light a fresh ci… and realize that I am still very m… the 21st century is almost upon me…

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.