#1973 #AmericanWriters #AtTerrorStreetAndAgonyWay #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame
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are more beautiful than movie stars and they lounge on the lawn sunbathing
you shoulda been at this party, I know you hate parties but you seem to be at most of them… anyhow, I took my girl, you know her—
I drank for the next week. I drank night and day and wrote 25 or 30 mournful poems about lost love. It was Friday night when the phone rang. It was Mercedes. “I got married,” she said, ...
he carried a piece of carbon, a blade and a whip and at night he feared his head and covered it with blankets
you haven’t lived until you’ve been in a flophouse with nothing but one light bulb
oh, how worried they are about my soul! I get letters the phone rings... “are you going to be all right?”
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.
the waste of words continues with a stunning persistence as the waiter runs by carrying the… tray
god I got the sad blue blues, this woman sat there and she said are you really Charles Bukowski?
we are always asked to understand the other person’s viewpoint no matter how out—dated
When I awakened it was 1:30 pm. I took a bath, got dressed, checked the mail. A letter from a young man in Glendale. "Dear Mr. Chinaski: I am a young writer and I think that I am a good...
at the track today, Father’s Day, each paid admission was entitled to a wallet and each contained a
I read that he lost a suitcase ful… train and that they never were rec… I can’t match the agony of this but the other night I wrote a 3—pa… upon this computer
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…