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ecfdd93
|
and even the trees we walked under seemed less than trees and more like everything else.
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Charles Bukowski |
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b0cb5b3
|
I mean, say that you figure that everything is senseless, then it can't be quite senseless because you are aware that it's senseless and your awareness of senselessness almost gives it sense. You know what I mean?
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Charles Bukowski |
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61591ab
|
she wasn't very interesting but few people are.
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poem
poetry
people
women
humanity
family
death
life
love
bukowski
interesting
conversation
society
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Charles Bukowski |
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86b8e04
|
Few beautiful women were willing to indicate in public that they belonged to someone. I had known enough women to realize this. I accepted them for what they were and love came hard and very seldom. When it did it was usually for the wrong reasons. One simply became tired of holding back love and let it go because it needed some place to go. Then, usually, there was trouble.
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women
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Charles Bukowski |
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b181c56
|
People don't do me much good.
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Charles Bukowski |
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96144c5
|
it's colder than hell (yes) but the blankets are thin, and the pulled-down shades are as full of holes as love is.
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Charles Bukowski |
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151d0d8
|
As a recluse I couldn't bear traffic. It had nothing to do with jealousy, I simply disliked people, crowds, anywhere, except at my readings. People diminished me, they sucked me dry.
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people
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Charles Bukowski |
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7d09497
|
I could read the great books but the great books don't interest me.
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reading
classics
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Charles Bukowski |
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05a770c
|
Why do you insist upon destroying yourself?
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Charles Bukowski |
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faf046a
|
the psyche has been burned and left us senseless, the world has been darker than lights-out in a closet full of hungry bats, and the whiskey and wine entered our veins when blood was too weak to carry on
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Charles Bukowski |
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b935453
|
Do not ignore it. Fuck it. Cry your heart out. Then fuck it some more.
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Charles Bukowski |
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3f25ce5
|
sometimes there's nothing to say about death.
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Charles Bukowski |
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abb9f32
|
there's no clarity. there was never meant to be clarity.
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|
loneliness
poem
poetry
death
life
love
bukowski
clarity
nonsense
lonely
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Charles Bukowski |
|
50ef4f9
|
we were in her big oak bed facing south so much of the rest of the time that I memorized each wrinkle in the drapes and especially all the cracks in the ceiling. I used to play games with her with that ceiling. "see those cracks up there?" "where?" "look where I'm pointing..." "o.k." "now, see those cracks, see the pattern? it forms and image. do you see what it is?" "umm, umm ..." "go on, what is it?" "I know! It's a man on top of a woman..
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Charles Bukowski |
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868bd92
|
She had wild eyes, slightly insane. She also carried an overload of compassion that was real enough and which obviously cost her something.
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women
love
wild
insane
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
fa97ab0
|
the whole world is caught in her glance and at last the universe is magnificent.
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Charles Bukowski |
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9f89d91
|
Ann, I love you. I hope my car starts. I hope the sink isn't plugged up. I'm glad I didn't fuck a groupie. I'm glad I'm not very good at getting into bed with strange females. I'm glad I'm an idiot. I'm glad I don't know anything. I'm glad I haven't been murdered. When I look at my hands and they are still on my wrists, I think to myself, I am lucky.
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|
Charles Bukowski |
|
7147e00
|
You just rebel against everything. How are you going to survive? I don't know. I'm already tired.
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|
Charles Bukowski |
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26ce150
|
Love is a form of prejudice. I have too many other prejudices.
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Charles Bukowski |
|
6cfc7e4
|
they simply never understand, do they, that sometimes solitude is one of the most beautiful
|
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Charles Bukowski |
|
6a1a5f9
|
fuck she pulled her dress off over her head and I saw the panties indented somewhat into the crotch. it's only human. now we've got to do it. I've got to do it after all that bluff. it's like a party-- two trapped idiots. under the sheets after I have snapped off the light her panties are still on. she expects an opening performance. I can't blame her. but wonder why she's here with me? where are the other guys? how can you be lucky? having..
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Charles Bukowski |
|
ca0fe7f
|
the area dividing the brain and the soul is affected in many ways by experience - some lose all mind and become soul: insane. some lose all soul and become mind: intellectual. some lose both and become: accepted.
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Charles Bukowski |
|
8b558ff
|
They laughed. Things were funny. They weren't afraid to care. There was no sense to life, to the structure of things.
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|
|
Charles Bukowski |
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0c667ec
|
And there I was, 225 pounds, perpetually lost and confused, short legs, ape-like upper body, all chest, no neck, head too large, blurred eyes, hair uncombed, 6 feet of geek, waiting for her.
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|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
204feca
|
Capitalism has survived communism. Now, it eats away at itself.
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|
Charles Bukowski |
|
16667bd
|
Her one drink had Cecelia giggling and talking and she was explaining that animals had souls too. Nobody challenged her opinion. It was possible, we knew. What we weren't sure of was if we had any.
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|
women
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
1426541
|
what you were will not happen again.
|
|
survival
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
a6e47b5
|
people see so many movies that when they finally see one not so bad as the others, they think it's great. an Academy Award means that you don't stink quite as much as your cousin.
|
|
theatre
academy-awards
film
movies
theater
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
5146bd5
|
I held her wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred, centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted. there was no creature living as foul as I
|
|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
e081db9
|
It was sad, it was sad, it was sad. When Betty came back we didn't sing or laugh, or even argue. We sat drinking in the dark, smoking cigarettes, and when we went to sleep, I didn't put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching. We had both been robbed.
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|
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Charles Bukowski |
|
4b9f87e
|
sometimes when everything seems at its worst when all conspires and gnaws and the hours, days, weeks years seem wasted - stretched there upon my bed in the dark looking upward at the ceiling i get what many will consider an obnoxious thought: it's still nice to be Bukowski.
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|
irony
poem
poetry
funny
obnoxious
ego
ironic
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
ea932e5
|
You can't beat death but you can beat death in life, sometimes. and the more often you learn to do it, the more light there will be.
|
|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
03bc0f6
|
take a writer away from his typewriter and all you have left is the sickness which started him typing
|
|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
c0e2678
|
I lapsed into my pathetic cut-off period. Often with humans, both good and bad, my senses simply shut off, they get tired, I give up. I am polite. I nod. I pretend to understand because I don't want anybody to be hurt. That is the one weakness that has lead me into the most trouble. Trying to be kind to others I often get my soul shredded into a kind of spiritual pasta. No matter. My brain shuts off. I listen. I respond. And they are too du..
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|
hollywood
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
00bd1e3
|
there was something about that city, though it didn't let me feel guilty that I had no feeling for the things so many others
|
|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
99dd1a6
|
Most people are much better at saying things in letters than in conversation, and some people can write artistic, inventive letters, but when they try a poem or story or novel they become pretentious.
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|
poetry
writing
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
bbed47f
|
It was like a church in there as only the truly lost sit in bars on Tuesday mornings at 8:00 a.m.
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|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
b7950e6
|
I paid, got up, walked to the door, opened it. I heard the man say, "that guy's nuts." out on the street I walked north feeling curiously honored."
|
|
irony
poem
poetry
funny
death
life
mental
self
honor
crazy
soul
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
8de4d3a
|
I could understand the moon leaning across a bar on skid row and asking for a drink, but I couldn't understand anything about myself, I was murdered, I was shit, I was a tentful of dogs, I was poppies mowed down by machine-gun fire I was a hotshot wasp in a web I was less and less and still reaching for something, and I thought of her corny remark a night or so ago: You have wounded eyes.
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|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
3a542ad
|
to ask them to legalize pot is something like asking them to put butter on the handcuffs before they place them on you, something else is hurting you - that's why you need pot or whiskey, or whips and rubber suits, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can't think, or madhouses or mechanical cunts or 162 baseball games in a season. or vietnam or israel or the fear of spiders. your love washing her yellow false teeth in the sink befo..
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|
dirty-realism
legalization
legalize
whiskey
weed
realism
pot
drugs
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
d5a818a
|
escape from the black widow spider is a miracle as great as art. what a web she can weave slowly drawing you to her she'll embrace you then when she's satisfied she'll kill you still in her embrace and suck the blood from you.
|
|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
9c6b4af
|
she knew what she wanted and it wasn't / me. / I know more women like that than any / other kind.
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|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
fbd5c7c
|
like the fox I run with the hunted and if I'm not the happiest man on earth I'm surely the luckiest man alive.
|
|
|
Charles Bukowski |
|
2ef41f9
|
there is moss on the walls and the stain of thought and failure and waiting
|
|
|
Charles Bukowski |