Charles Bukowski

Goodbye and thank you, 2011. You were a revelation. in this cage some songs are born Charles Bukowski I write poetry, worry, smile, laugh sleep continue for a while just like most of us just like all of us; sometimes I want to hug all Mankind on earth and say, god damn

How I cope with my Monday: I watch Tom Waits reading Bukowski. The Laughing Heart Charles Bukowski your life is your life don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission. be on the watch. there are ways out. there is a light somewhere. it may not be

Sifting through the madness. so you want to be a writer? Charles Bukowski if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it. if you

I've reached a stalemate with my manuscript. I don't know if I'll be able to write any more until the end of this month, even if I'm just five days away. What else is there to write --- oh, a

Browsing through my bookshelf earlier. Saw a McCullers title I've yet to read but didn't pick it up. Hesitated on getting Bukowski which was sitting under a big pile. And now, this poem. Are you trying to tell me something,

Yesterday was my dog's birthday. He was a German shepherd named Mitch. He died almost two years ago. I still miss him. White Dog Charles Bukowski I went for a walk on Hollywood Boulevard. I looked down and there was a large white dog walking beside

A year ago today I was holding an already battered notebook in hand and writing down Bukowski's poem as if my life depended on it. It was a few weeks after my first ever workshop, and was missing those days

I can't believe how much I've changed and not changed. Like I was evolving and stepping backwards inside myself at the same time. I've remade myself into a lot of genres but sometimes I still am the same vinyl record

Crying jag tonight. Had a fight with my parents again. Over poetry, of all things. How Is Your Heart? Charles Bukowski during my worst times on the park benches in the jails or living with whores I always had this certain contentment--- I wouldn't call it happiness--- it was more of an