#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
she writes: you’ll be moaning and groaning in your poems about how I fucked those 2 guys last week.
there’s a bluebird in my heart tha… wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I’m not goi… to let anybody see
Her father really hated me. He thought I was after his money. I didn’t want his god damned money. And I didn’t even want his god damned precious daughter. The only time I ever saw him w...
To give life you must take life, and as our grief falls flat and ho… upon the billion—blooded sea I pass upon serious inward—breakin… with white—legged, white—bellied r…
I began receiving letters from a girl in New York City. Her name was Mindy. She had run across a couple of my books, but the best thing about her letters was that she seldom mentioned w...
I go to pick her up. she’s on some errand. she always has errands many things to do. I have nothing to do.
you with long hair, legs crossed h… the bar, you like a butcher knife… as the nightingale sings elsewhere… mingles with the roach’s hiss. know you as
you came out, she said, and then you kicked this guy’s car and then you threw yourself into a… you crushed the whole bush,
I get many phonecalls now. They are all alike. “are you Charles Bukowski, the writer?” “yes,” I tell them.
There were times when Frank and I were friendly with Chuck, Eddie and Gene. But something would always happen (usually I caused it) and then I would be out, and Frank would be partly ou...
The next day was Saturday and Debra cooked us breakfast. “Are you coming antique hunting with us today?” We ate in silence for a while, then she said, “I liked your reading at The Lance...
I even hear the mountains the way they laugh up and down their blue sides and down in the water the fish cry
my father was a practical man. he had an idea. you see, my son, he said, I can pay for this house in my lif… then it’s mine.
rose red sunlight; take it apart in the garage like a puzzle:
You had to fill out more papers to get out than to get in. The first page they gave you was a personalized mimeo affair from the postmaster of the city. It began: “I am sorry you are te...