#AmericanWriters #1977 #LoveIsADogFromHell
I go to pick her up. she’s on some errand. she always has errands many things to do. I have nothing to do.
I have been painting these last tw… it’s not much, you’re correct, but in this tournament great dream… history removes her dress and beco… and I have awakened in the morning
cigarettes wetted with beer from the night before you light one gag open the door for air
So I was surprised when the phone rang a couple of nights later and it was Cassie. “What are you doing, Hank?” She gave me the address, it was either Westwood or West L. A. “I have plen...
with an Apple Macintosh you can’t run Radio Shack program… in its disc drive. nor can a Commodore 64 drive read a file
it is not very good to not get through whether it’s the wall the human mind
she was sitting in the window of room 1010 at the Chelsea in New York, Janis Joplin’s old room. it was 104 degrees
the men phone and ask me that. are you really Charles Bukowski the writer? they ask. I’m a sometimes writer, I say, most often I don’t do anything.
sick with the flu drinking beer my radio on loud enough to overcome the sounds of the
I kept the date in mind. It was never any problem creating a split with Lydia. I was naturally a loner, content just to live with a woman, eat with her, sleep with her, walk down the st...
out of the arm of one love and into the arms of another I have been saved from dying on th… by a lady who smokes pot writes songs and stories
am sitting on a tin chair outside… death, on stinking wings, wafts th… halls forevermore. remember the hospital stenches fro… was a boy and when I was a man and…
That evening I started drinking. It wasn’t going to be easy without Katherine. I found some things she had left behind—earrings, a bracelet. I’ve got to get back to the typewriter, I th...
rose red sunlight; take it apart in the garage like a puzzle:
she undressed in front of me keeping her pussy to the front while I lay in bed with a bottle o… beer. where’d you get that wart on