I don’t know what’s to become of us. we need a lot of luck. and mine’s been bad lately. and the sun is getting nearer. and, Life, as ugly as it seems, does seem worth 3 or 4 more days. think we’ll make it?
golden-state-of-mind-colefornia:
This is awesome.
Bukowski
Just to show you this beauty made by a great brazillian tattoo artist - Turco - on my skin. Now Hank will watch my steps forever <3
I just finished ‘Ham On Rye’, what a great read. Bukowski really channels the inner pessimist all of us have, and his blunt disgust with the world and the people around him was entertaining, in a depressing kind of way. I’ve read many of Bukowski’s poems, but this was the first I’ve read of his novels. Any suggestions of which of his works I should read next?
“At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole god-damned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidate who reminded them most of themselves. I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go. Suicide? Jesus Christ, just more work. I felt like sleeping for five years but they wouldn’t let me.”
And my own affairs were as bad, as dismal, as the day I had been born. The only difference was that now I could drink now and then, though never often enough. Drink was the only thing that kept a man from feeling forever stunned and useless. Everything else just kept picking and picking, hacking away. And nothing was interesting, nothing. The people were restrictive and careful, all alike. And I’ve got to live with these fuckers for the rest of my life, I thought. God, they all had assholes and sexual organs and their mouths and their armpits. They shit and they chattered and they were dull as horse dung. The girls looked good from a distance, the sun shining through their dresses, their hair. But get up close and listen to their minds running out of their mouths, you felt like digging in under a hill and hiding out with a tommy-gun. I would certainly never be able to be happy, to get married, I could never have children. Hell, I couldn’t even get a job as a dishwasher.
Charles Bukowski
“Be Kind”
The Pleasures of the Damned: Poems, 1951-1993
Published 2007
Currently #bukowski
‘Nobody But You,’ a poem by Charles Bukowski, read by RM.
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