of one hundred movies there's one that is fair, one that's good and ninety eight that are very bad. most movies start badly and steadily get worse
Charles BukowskiTags: movies
nothing's news.
it's the same old thing in
disguise.
only one thing comes without a
disguise and you only see it
once, or
maybe never.
like getting hit by a freight
train.
makes us realize that all our
moaning about long lost girls
in gingham dresses
is not so important
after
all.
Tags: poems the-last-song charles-bukowski
Christmas poem to a man in jail
hello Bill Abbott:
I appreciate your passing around my books in
jail there, my poems and stories.
if I can lighten the load for some of those guys with
my books, fine.
but literature, you know, is difficult for the
average man to assimilate (and for the unaverage man too);
I don't like most poetry, for example,
so I write mine the way I like to read it.
Tags: charles-bukowski
Lighting new cigarettes,
pouring more
drinks.
It has been a beautiful
fight.
Still
is.
It seemed better to delay thinking.
Charles BukowskiTags: 193
That the young rich smell the stink of the poor and learn to find it a bit amusing. They had to laugh, otherwise it would be too terrifying.
Charles BukowskiTags: 193
They laughed. Things were funny. They weren't afraid to care. There was no sense to life, to the structure of things.
Charles Bukowskiwhen I was a boy I used to dream of becoming
the village idiot.
I used to lie in bed and imagine myself the
happy idiot
able to get food easily
...and easy sympathy,
a planned confusion of not too much love or effort.
some would claim that I have succeeded.
out of the arms...
out of the arms of one love
and into the arms of another
I have been saved from dying on the cross
by a lady who smokes pot
writes songs and stories,
and is much kinder than the last,
much much kinder,
and the sex is just as good or better.
it isn't pleasant to be put on the cross and left there,
it is much more pleasant to forget a love which didn't
work
as all love
finally
doesn't work...
it is much more pleasant to make love
along the shore in Del Mar
in room 42, and afterwards
sitting up in bed
drinking good wine, talking and touching
smoking
listening to the waves...
I have died too many times
believing and waiting, waiting
in a room
staring at a cracked ceiling
waiting for the phone, a letter, a knock, a sound...
going wild inside
while she danced with strangers in nightclubs...
out of the arms of one love
and into the arms of another
it's not pleasant to die on the cross,
it's much more pleasant to hear your name whispered in the dark.
Tags: love
nerves
twitching in the sheets --
to face the sunlight again,
that's clearly
trouble.
I like the city better when the
neon lights are going and
the nudies dance on top of the
bar
to the mauling music.
I'm under this sheet
thinking.
me nerves are hampered by
history --
the most memorable concern of mankind
is the guys it takes to
face the sunlight again.
love begins at the meeting of two
strangers. love for the world is
impossible. I'd rather stay in bed
and sleep.
dizzied by the days and the streets and the years
I pull the sheets to my neck.
I turn my ass to the wall.
I hate the mornings more than
any man.
Tags: love
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