#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
has been going on for some time. there is this young waitress where… at the racetrack. how are you doing today?” she asks… winning pretty good,” I reply.
my mother knocked on my rooming-ho… and came in looked in the dresser drawer: Henry you don’t have any clean stockings?
I saw a vacancy sign in the window in front of a rooming-house, had the cabby pull up. I paid him and walked up on the front porch, rang the bell. I had one black eye from the fight, an...
this woman keeps phoning me even though I tell her I am livin… I love. I keep hearing noises in the envir… she phones,
Go to Tibet. Ride a camel. Read the Bible. Dye your shoes blue. Grow a Beard.
this one always arrives at the wrong time a basically good sort I suppose an honest man
vain vanilla ladies strutting while van Gogh did it to himself. girls pulling on silk hose
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
I see old people on pensions in th… supermarkets and they are thin and… proud and they are dying they are starving on their feet an… nothing. long ago, among other lie…
The boys on Dorsey station didn’t know my problems. I’d enter through the back way each night, hide my sweater in a tray and walk in to get my timecard: We had a game going, the black-w...
the motion of the human heart: strangled over Missouri; sheathed in hot wax in Boston; burned like a potato in Norfolk; lost in the Allegheny Mountains;
I get many phonecalls now. They are all alike. “are you Charles Bukowski, the writer?” “yes,” I tell them.
welcome to my wormy hell. the music grinds off-key. fish eyes watch from the wall. this is where the last happy shot… fired.
my doctor has just come into his o… from surgery. he meets me in the men’s john. “God damn,” he says to me, “where did you find her? oh, I jus…
my first and only wife painted and she talked to me about it: it’s all so painful