Factotum – Why I Read Bukowski

Even my spontaneity is planned. That is why I read Bukowski. Google Maps ensures that I don't even get lost, sealing my last bastion of unpredictability.That is why I read Bukowski. Somewhere underneath all that filth and grit, I want to believe Bukowski's sadness exists untouched. Somewhere beyond all the boozing and whoring, I convince myself there... Continue Reading →

Postoffice – Charles Bukowski

I knew a girl who read Bukowski I knew a girl who read Bukowski. I knew a girl who read. I knew a girl. I knew.  I. I did not know the girl who read Bukowski. A girl who smoked like a fish and drank like a chimney. All the words that litter papers and novelists that litter coffee shops are self conscious.... Continue Reading →

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