#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
The riots ended, the baby calmed down, and I found ways to avoid Janko. But the dizzy spells persisted. The doctor wrote me a standing order for the green-white librium capsules and the...
the boys come up the boys climb up the brown pole as the waterheater gurgles in Spanish
my grandfather was a tall German with a strange smell on his breath… he stood very straight in front of his small house and his wife hated him
the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break
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
Four or five days passed. The phone rang. It was Tammie. “Listen, Hank. You know that little bridge you cross in your car when you drive to my mother’s place?” “Well, right by there the...
used to drive those trucks so hard and for so long that my right foot would go dead from pushing down on the accelerator.
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...
the pleasures of the damned are limited to brief moments of happiness: like the eyes in the look of a dog… like a square of wax,
There was death in that place on the hill. I knew it the first day I walked out the screen door and into the backyard. A zing– ing binging buzzing whining sound came right at me: 10,000...
he was 65, his wife was 66, had Alzheimer’s disease. he had cancer of the mouth. there were
sometimes after you get your ass kicked real good by the forces you often wish you were a crane standing on one leg in blue water
Then the supervisor moved us to a new aisle. We had been there ten hours. “Before you begin,” the soup said, "I want to tell you some– thing. Each tray of this type of mail must be stuc...
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.
We got back to 1010. I had my check. I’d left word that we didn’t want to be disturbed. Tammie and I sat drinking. I’d read 5 or 6 love poems about her. “They knew who I was,” she said....