#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated.
the branches break, the birds fall… the whores stand straight, the bombs stack, evening, morning, night, peanutbutter,
one of Lorca’s best lines is, “agony, always agony ...” think of this when you
the German hotel was very strange… double doors to the rooms, very th… looked the park and the vasser ter… it was usually too late for breakf… would be everywhere changing sheet…
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...
I get many phonecalls now. They are all alike. “are you Charles Bukowski, the writer?” “yes,” I tell them.
I am in this low—slung sports car painted a deep, rich yellow driving under an Italian sun. I have a British accent. I’m wearing dark shades
murder the roaches spit out paper clips and the helicopter circles and cir… smelling for blood
A sound awakened me. It was not quite daylight. Cecelia was moving around getting dressed. I looked at my watch. “I want to watch the sun come up. I love sunrises!” “I haven’t been able...
too much too little too fat too thin or nobody.
washed—up, on shore, the old yello… out again I write from the bed as I did last year.
no way back to Barcelona. the green soldiers have invaded th… madmen rule Spain and during a heat wave in 1952 I b… no way back to the Rock of Gibral…
he sat naked and drunk in a room o… night, running the blade of the kn… under his fingernails, smiling, th… of all the letters he had received telling him that
drunk and writing poems at 3 a.m. what counts now is one more tight
in the men’s room at the track this boy of about 7 or 8 years old came out of a stall