the suicide kid I went to the worst of bars hoping to get killed. but all I could do was to get drunk again. worse, the bar patrons even ended up liking me. there I was trying to get pushed over the dark edge and I ended up with free drinks while somewhere else some… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
they thought I had guts they were wrong I was only frightened of more important things — Charles Bukowski, from “Wall Clock,” Open All Night: New Poems. (Black Sparrow Press, September 1, 2000)
Today I will walk in the sun. I will simply walk in the sun. — Charles Bukowski, from a letter to Ann Bauman, Screams From The Balcony: Selected Letters 1960 – 1970 ( HarperCollins e-books, 2009)
and then there are some who believe that old relationships can be revived and made new again. but please if you feel that way don’t phone don’t write don’t arrive. — Charles Bukowski, from “Alone Again,” Come On In!: New Poems. (Ecco (March 27, 2007) Originally published January 3rd 2006.
Baby, in a couple of minutes I’m going to rip off your god damned panties and show you some turkey neck you’ll remember all the way to the graveside. I have a vast and curved penis, like a sickle, and many a gutted pussy has gasped come upon my callous and roach-smeared rug. First let… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
“i am dead but i know the dead are not like this.” the dead can sleep they don’t get up and rage they don’t have a wife. her white face like a flower in a closed window lifts up and looks at me. the curtain smokes a cigarette and a moth dies in a freeway… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life… Continue reading Charles Bukowski