#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
he carried a piece of carbon, a blade and a whip and at night he feared his head and covered it with blankets
The toughest in the station. Apartment houses with boxes that had scrubbed-out names or no names at all, under tiny lightbulbs in dark halls. Old ladies standing in halls, up and down t...
I was 50 years old and hadn’t been to bed with a woman for four years. I had no women friends. I looked at them as I passed them on the streets or wherever I saw them, but I looked at t...
god I got the sad blue blues, this woman sat there and she said are you really Charles Bukowski?
I’m out of matches. the springs in my couch are broken. they stole my footlocker. they stole my oil painting of
in San Francisco the landlady, 80… Victrola up the stairway and I pl… until they beat on the walls. there was a large bucket in the ce… filled with beer and winebottles;
what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light
I’ve come by, she says, to tell yo… that this is it. I’m not kidding,… over. this is it. I sit on the couch watching her ar… her long red hair before my bedroo…
he sits all day at the bus stop at Sunset and Western his sleeping bag beside him. he’s dirty. nobody bothers him.
A week later I was driving down Hollywood Boulevard with Lydia. A weekly entertainment newspaper published in California at that time had asked me to write an article on the life of the...
Sunday, I am eating a grapefruit, church is over at the… Orthadox to the west. she is dark
she was sitting in the window of room 1010 at the Chelsea in New York, Janis Joplin’s old room. it was 104 degrees
take a writer away from his typewr… and all you have left is the sickness which started him
call it love stand it up in the failing light put it in a dress pray sing beg cry laugh
no we can’t we can’t win it I’ve decided we can’t win it just for a while we thought we cou… but that was just for a while