#AmericanWriters #1977 #LoveIsADogFromHell
“your poems about the girls will s… 50 years from now when the girls a… my editor phones me. dear editor: the girls appear to be gone
during my worst times on the park benches in the jails or living with whores
cimen altinda gecen 225 gunden son… kanini emip bitireli epey oldu, ar… bu isler boyle mi oluyor? bu odada hala ask saatlerinin golg… birakip gittiginde asagi yukari he…
if you’re a man, Los Angeles is w… battle; or if you’re a woman, and… the rest, you sail it against a mo… when you grow grey you can hide in… in a mansion so nobody can see how…
Somehow the money slipped away after that and soon I left the track and sat around in my apartment waiting for the 90 days’ leave to run out. My nerves were raw from the drinking and th...
when God created love he didn’t he… when God created dogs He didn’t h… when God created plants that was a… when God created hate we had a sta… when God created me He created me
I paid this one’s fare all the way… to San Francisco then flew up to meet her at her br… and I got drunk and talked all night about a redhe…
But then it began raining again. The Stone had me out on a thing called Sunday Collection, and if you’re thinking of church, forget it. You picked up a truck at West Garage and a clipbo...
I got in the shower and burned my balls last Wednesday. met this painter called Spain, no, he was a cartoonist,
Our English teacher, Miss Gredis, was the absolute best. She was a blonde with a long sharp nose. Her nose wasn’t much good but you didn’t notice it when you looked at the rest of her. ...
I laugh sometimes when I think ab… say Céline at a typewriter or Dostoevsky... or Hamsun...
I get many phonecalls now. They are all alike. “are you Charles Bukowski, the writer?” “yes,” I tell them.
It was another Sunday that we got into the Model-T in search of my Uncle John. “He has no ambition,” said my father. “I don’t see how he can hold his god-damned head up and look people ...
I was sitting in my shorts one afternoon a week later. There was a tender little knock on the door. “Just a moment,” I said. I put on a robe and opened the door. “We’re two girls from G...
A month went by. R.A. Dwight, the editor of Dogbite Press wrote and asked me to do a foreword to Keesing’s Selected Poems. Keesing, with the help of his death, was at last going to get ...