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Odpalmy razem Camela. Dear Friends of the European Blues Union! Dear listeners who support us! Today we would be in Zandaam in the Netherlands, preparing for our set at the European Blues Challenge We know, as we all hoped, that we would meet in person and spend wonderful time together.

We were also very happy about it, very proud of it. We firmly believe that it will finally happen. We send you warm greetings. We especially think warmly about the entire team of Dutch Blues Foundation , which has put so much work into preparation of this event.

We are proud that we can be part of it despite all the difficulties. Jump to. Sections of this page. Accessibility Help. Email or Phone Password Forgot account? See more of Charles Bukowski - wiersze on Facebook. Log In. Forgot account? Not Now. Visitor Posts. Information about Page Insights Data. Sometimes it works out but when you need a bullet and a gun you're looking And you see that wires over your head combined years ago with a button have been cut kidnapped destroyed they have become useless just like that swimming pool.

I don't have the light in the back, signing paper and extremely grateful getting in the car, they didn't catch me on what I was scared sadness sewage from me like drops of water on the walls of a semi-poisoned well, I realize that practically my chances limit themselves to zero - I look like a worm found after the light turned on at 3 am in the bathroom love has lips blocked with a rag, happy paintings turn into clips you know what I mean well you know. I can enter any restaurant: order whiskey with water, pay, hold a glass in your hand, they don't know anything nothing but nothing about you or me, they will only talk about the ball or weather or energy crisis, our hands will raise the glass then, we will observe our own reflections in the mirror and drink to the bottom - Jane, Barbara, Frances, Linda, Liza, Stella, Father's brown leather slipper flipped in the bathroom, nameless dead dogs, tomorrow's newspaper, boiling water pouring out of termy in Thursday afternoon burns your hand up to the elbow, you're not even bad that you hurt, you laugh at those who win you laugh at the guy who screwed your girlfriend when you were drunk or when you went somewhere you laugh at her for giving him.

When I think of myself dead Thinking of cars standing on parking lot When I think of myself dead Thinking about frying pan When I think of myself dead thinking of someone who makes love to you when I'm not around When I think of myself dead It's hard to breathe When I think of myself dead thinking of all the people waiting to die When I think of myself dead I think I will never be able to drink water again When I think of myself dead the air is getting white cockroaches in my kitchen tremble tremble and someone will have to throw away my clean and dirty underwear.

I say, " listen, baby, my life was good so good ". I hang my head I'm basing her on the steering wheel diggle then kick opening the door and pretend to be sick. Laughing and sticks his teeth into a sandwich. I take four fries fries And I put them in my mouth, Chewing. I'm giving a sneaky look: We have so much happiness how much do we need - her eyes shine the rest of the day. Eddie and eve You know sat at a bar in Philly on the same stool by 5 years old drank canned heat and cheapest wine in the evenings in dark alleys, fat truck drivers they beat me to make me laugh elegant guests of the premises I won't say anything about my childhood was too unreal and it makes me sick but where am I going at finally gathered to visit after 30 years my old buddy Eddie lived on in the same house with the same wife You guessed well: he was worse than me couldn't get up from the chair arthritis What's left of his hair it was grey my God Eddie, I said.

I know he said I'm done no I can breathe. I know, she answered. We got drunk together. Eve giggled. We had a little bit more. Eddie started throwing up. Eve brought him a bucket and vomited to buckets buckets between the vomiting attacks he repeated that we are men real men and we know what this is all about by God bless these young pee they have no idea. Charles Bukowski on dying and how to write.

Ride your bike through Paris park. Dark morning windows shine Chinese Jew trembles in the cold. I buried my father in a green coat. I can't stand adversity but I have to. Look at them. Laughing, nod. The entire civilization collapses like a powerful wave. Pissing In a River. I'm dead but I know that the dead don't look like me the dead are sleeping they don't wake up in the morning and don't get mad they don't have a wife.

I turn out the light and lay down next to my woman sure I'm close Purrs in his sleep some rose gratitude I pull my legs out for the length of your own coffin I soak into the bedding and sailing far from frogs and lottery.

Pull the string and the puppet will move I left when she was just approaching another one naive and yet felt really guilty about mine heartless habit denying the old one a girl. Of course she had a right to be here, to bet like all of us, she just wanted and needed what most people want and need: chances. I watched her like scratches up and I saw her stop and talking to a young man who smiled and handed her coupon.

We are slowly finishing "Vanilla Mice Nights". Extending it as I can. Let's start Camel together. Camel - Rajaz. I wonder: can no one else see this? I wonder: does she see these gravestones?

I'm going to the sea I'm getting off and I run on the shore for 35 minutes here and there I see people with eyes, ears, toes and various other parts of the body. Seems like nobody cares. John dillinger I the cursed hunter it's clumsy, not any way of being, but I don't care: girls remind me of hair in the sink girls Reminds me about bladders and expulsion intestines; it's unfortunate but ice cream in knobs, infants, engine valves, plagiostoms, palm trees, steps steps in the hallway I suppose it's important to break ice cubes the important thing is that the mouse is looking for something in an empty beer can - two hollow emptiness looking at each other, or the sea at night crowded from the crushed ships whose lights move the economical web of your brain, their salty lights they touch you and then abandon you Looking for more lasting love in some India, Or maybe you're driving ahead without purpose demented by somnolence from behind the open windows who yell your shirt flying like a scared bird, you always get stopped by the lights, always red, fires of the night and awareness of failure, failure I imagine our death will be nothing special, removing something, handling things such as throwing away trash, and though I kept the letters of this young poet, I don't believe them I'm just looking at and I feel like I've seen sick palm trees, the end of the sun.

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Diploma - Charles Bukowski poetry book

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Charles Bukowski


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