La mayoría de la muerte de la gente es una farsa, no queda en ellos nada que pueda morir
bukowski death spanish
Yes Yeswhen God created love he didn't help most when God created dogs He didn't help dogs when God created plants that was average when God created hate we had a standard utility when God created me He created me when God created the monkey He was asleep when He created the giraffe He was drunk when He created narcotics He was high and when He created suicide He was low when He created you lying in bed He knew what He was doing He was drunk and He was high and He created the mountains and the sea and fire at the same time He made some mistakes but when He created you lying in bed He came all over His Blessed Universe.
bukowski funny humor passion women
Some moments are nice, some arenicer, some are even worthwritingabout.
bukowski moments nice poetry tso-love war-all-the-time writing
Where some god pissed a rain of reason to make things grow only to die
bukowski poetry
That your power of commandwith simple language wasone of the magnificent things ofour century.(from the poem: result)
bukowski command language poetry power speech war-all-the-time
Crawled like a blind slug into the web
To create art means to be crazy aloneforever.
bukowski bukowskisism poetry
Her one drink had Cecelia giggling and talking and she was explaining that animals had souls too. Nobody challenged her opinion. It was possible, we knew. What we weren't sure of was if we had any.
bukowski women
There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets... When you leave your typewriter you leave your machine gun and the rats come pouring through.
bukowski rats writing
Basically, that's why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.
bukowski salvation writing
And it seems people should not build houses anymoreit seems people should stop working and sit in small rooms on second floorsunder electric lightswithout shades; it seems there is a lot to forgetand a lot not to doand in drugstores, markets, bars, the people are tired, they do not want to move, and I stand there at nightand look through this house and the house does not want to be built
bukowski poem
