#Americans #XXCentury #1973 #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame
At 3:30 a.m. my twelve hours were… I set the alarm so that I would b… “What happened, Hank? We thought… “I’m quitting.” “Quitting?” “Yes, you can’t blame a man for wa…
often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink,
a poem is a city filled with stree… filled with saints, heroes, beggar… filled with banality and booze, filled with rain and thunder and p… drought, a poem is a city at war,
she was a short one getting fat and she had once been beautiful and she drank the wine she drank the wine in bed and
if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce— pickers of Salinas?
I blacked out after that. I guess I had consumed more whiskey than I thought. I don’t remember arriving at Nicole’s. I awakened in the morning with my back to somebody in a strange bed....
this poet he’d been drinking 2 or 3 days and he walked out on the stage and looked at that audience and he just knew he was going to do it. there was a grand piano on stage and he walke...
during my worst times on the park benches in the jails or living with whores
There was another German Shepherd. It was hot summer and he came BOUNDING out of a back yard and then LEAPED through the air. His teeth snapped, just missing my jugular vein. “OH JESUS!...
this is my piano. the phone rings and people ask, what are you doing? how about getting drunk with us? and I say,
with an Apple Macintosh you can’t run Radio Shack program… in its disc drive. nor can a Commodore 64 drive read a file
bluebird there’s a bluebird in my heart tha… wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, say, stay in there, I’m not going
the motion of the human heart: strangled over Missouri; sheathed in hot wax in Boston; burned like a potato in Norfolk; lost in the Allegheny Mountains;
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.
she was hot, she was so hot I didn’t want anybody else to have… and if I didn’t get home on time she’d be gone, and I couldn’t bear… I’d go mad. . .