Charles Bukowski

in the most decent sometimes sun there is the softsmoke feeling from urns and the canned sound of old battleplanes and if you go inside and run your finger along the window ledge you'll find dirt, maybe even earth. and if you look out the window there will be the day, and as you get older you'll keep looking keep looking sucking your tongue in a little ah ah no no maybe some do it naturally some obscenely everywhere.

I have, he went on, betrayed myself withbelief, deluded myself with lovetricked myself with sex.the bottle is damned faithful, he said,the bottle will not lie

Walking out with the people, I didn't know which was more exciting, the air race, the parachute jump that failed, or the cunt.

The ass is the face of the soul of sex.

for a man of 55 who didn't get laid until he was 23 and not very often until he was 50 I think that I should stay listed via Pacific Telephone until I get as much as the average man has had

It's all overrated, man. Sex is only a great thing if you're not getting any.

fuckshe pulled her dress offover her headand I saw the pantiesindented somewhat into thecrotch.it's only human.now we've got to do it.I've got to do itafter all that bluff.it's like a party--two trappedidiots.under the sheetsafter I have snappedoff the lighther panties are stillon. she expects anopening performance.I can't blame her. butwonder why she's here withme? where are the otherguys? how can you belucky? having someone theothers have abandoned?we didn't have to do ityet we had to do it.it was something likeestablishing new credibilitywith the income taxman. I get the pantiesoff. I decide not to tongue her. even thenI'm thinking aboutafter it's over.we'll sleep togethertonighttrying to fit ourselvesinside the wallpaper.I try, fail,notice the hair on herheadmostly notice the hairon herheadand a glimpse ofnostrilspiglikeI try it again.

Sex is kicking death in the ass while singing.

Strangers when you meet, strangers when you part -a gymnasium of bodies namelessly masturbating each other. People with no morals often considered themselves more free, but mostly they lacked the ability to feel or to love. So they became swingers. The dead fucking the dead. There was no gamble or humor in their game -it was corpse fucking corpse. Morals were restrictive, but they were grounded on human experience down through the centuries. Some morals tended to keep people slaves in factories, in churches and true to the State. Other morals simply made good sense. It was like a garden filled with poisoned fruit and good fruit. You had to know which to pick and eat, which to leave alone.

jan was an excellent fuck...she had a tight pussy and she took it like it was a knife that was killing her.

Understand me. I__ not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul.

...they would say 'he said this, he did that', but they would never say 'she said this, she did that'. So I would say, they are sick, and I am well. Pardon me.

I'd decided the campus was just a place to hide. There were some campus freaks who stayed on forever. The whole college scene was soft. They never told you what to expect out there in the real world. They just crammed you with theory and never told you how hard the pavements were. A college education could destroy an individual for life. Books could make you soft. When you put them down, and really went out there, then you needed to know what they never told you.

the gods play nofavorites.

if it doesn__ come bursting out of youin spite of everything,don__ do it.unless it comes unasked out of yourheart and your mind and your mouthand your gut,don__ do it.

my mother, poor fish,wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times aweek, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile!why don't you ever smile?"and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was thesaddest smile I ever saw

the courage it took to get out of bed eachmorningto face the same thingsover and overwasenormous.

all people start tocome apart finallyand there it is:just empty ashtrays in a roomor wisps of hair on a combin the dissolving moonlight.