#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
I got back, made love to Lydia several times, got in a fight with her, and left L. A. International late one morning to give a reading in Arkansas. I was lucky enough to have a seat by ...
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.
It’s never quite right, he said, t… the way the music sounds, the way… written. It’s never quite right, he said, a… taught, all the loves we chase, al…
the acute and terrible air hangs w… as summer birds mingle in the bran… and warble and mystify the clamor of the mind… an old parrot
We continued drinking. Cecelia had just one more and stopped. “I want to go out and look at the moon and stars,” she said. “It’s so beautiful out!” She went outside by the swimming pool...
One morning a few days later I entered Lydia’s courtyard as she was walking in from the alley. She had been over to see her friend Tina who lived in an apartment house on the corner. Sh...
he walks up to my Volks after I have parked and rocks it back and forth grinning around his
it is the man you’ve never seen wh… keeps you going, the one who might arrive someday. he isn’t out on the streets or
I was in the 4th grade when I found out about it. I was probably one of the last to know, because I still didn’t talk to anybody. A boy walked up to “Your mother has a hole . . .”—he to...
the balance is preserved by the sn… the Santa Monica cliffs; the luck is in walking down Wester… and having the girls in a massage parlor holler at you, “Hello, Swe…
I am a panther shut up and bellowi… cement walls, and I am angry at bl… evenings without ventilation and I am angry with you, and it wi… like a rose
lonely as a dry and used orchard spread over the earth for use and surrender. shot down like an ex—pug selling dailies on the corner.
I was glad I had money in the Sav… Friday afternoon hungover I didn’t have a job I was glad I had money in the Sav… I didn’t know how to play a guitar
used to drive those trucks so hard and for so long that my right foot would go dead from pushing down on the accelerator.
The ultra-violet ray machine clicked off. I had been treated on both sides. I took off the goggles and began to dress. Miss Ackerman walked in. “Not yet,” she said, “keep your clothes o...