“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
I suppose there’s always something out there that we want to torture ourselves with. — Charles Bukowski, The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over The Ship. (Ecco; 1st edition May 31, 2002) Originally published 1998.
The fuckers. There, I feel better. God-damned human race. There, I feel better. ― Charles Bukowski, The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over. (Ecco; 1st edition May 31, 2002) Originally published 1998.
I remembered my New Orleans days, living on two five-cent candy bars a day for weeks at a time in order to have leisure to write. But starvation, unfortunately, didn’t improve art. It only hindered it. A man’s soul was rooted in his stomach. A man could write much better after eating a porterhouse steak… Continue reading Charles Bukowski
Do not ignore it. Fuck it. Cry your heart out. Then fuck it some more. — Charles Bukowski, Selected Letters Volume 4: 1987-1994. (Virgin Books January 6, 2005)
Everywhere, Everywhere amazing, how grimly we hold onto our misery, ever defensive, thwarted by the forces. amazing, the energy we burn fueling our anger. amazing, how one moment we can be snarling like a beast, then a few moments later, forgetting what or why. not hours of this or days or months or years of… Continue reading Charles Bukowski