Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski
Henry Charles Bukowskiwas an American poet, novelist, and short story writer...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth16 August 1920
CityAndernach, Germany
CountryUnited States of America
baby mean said
Potential," I said, "doesn't mean a thing. You've got to do it. Almost every baby in a crib has more potential than I have.
hate done forget
it's good to have things done with when they don't work it's also good not to hate or even forget the person you've failed with.
feel-good luck red
I've learned to feel good when I feel good. it's better to be driven around in a red porsche than to own one. the luck of the fool is inviolate.
thinking humans seems
human relationships simply aren't durable. I think back to the women in my life. they seem non-existent.
chance distracted persons
Was I the only person who was distracted by this future without a chance?
ocean grief gone
it is all ash and dry leaves and grief gone like an ocean liner.
heart hands rocks
my hands dead my heart dead silence adagio of rocks the world ablaze that's the best for me.
pain numbness weather
It was too much. The comfortable people made comfortable jokes about weather and things but I sat mostly silent saying a word or so when necessary a word or so trying to hide from them the fact that I was a fool and feeling terrible And I was numb, numb again, numb again again and again, numbness and pain swelling in me.
fall mirrors sides
you fall into the mirror, come through the other side staring at a lightbulb.
beautiful fighting promise
as the shadows assume shapes I fight the slow retreat now my once-promise dwindling dwindling now lighting new cigarettes pouring more drinks it has been a beautiful fight still is.
nuts insanity norm
Belane, are you nuts?" Who knows? Insanity is comparative. Who sets the norm?
care wonder stills
We’ve died so many times now that we can only wonder why we still care.
love death drains
My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours
lonely museums empty
The empty, the angry, the lonely, the tricked, we are all museums of fear.