Background Image

...

You Are Thirty Minutes Late." "yes." "would You Be Thirty Minutes Late To A Wedding Or A Funeral?" "no." "why Not, Pray Tell?" "well, If The Funeral Was Mine I'd Have To Be On Time. If The Wedding Was Mine It Would Be My Funeral.

-Charles Bukowski

...

Please Wait....
Translating....

You Are Thirty Minutes

Charles Bukowski

...

You Are Thirty Minutes Late." "yes." "would You Be Thirty Minutes Late To A Wedding Or A Funeral?" "no." "why Not, Pray Tell?" "well, If The Funeral Was Mine I'd Have To Be On Time. If The Wedding Was Mine It Would Be My Funeral.

Views: 78146

Topic

More From Charles Bukowski

As We Live We All Get Caught And Torn By Various Traps. Nobody Escapes Them. Some Even Live With Them. The Idea Is To Realize That A Trap Is A Trap. If You Are In One And You Don't Realize It, Then You're Finished.

Those Who Escape Hell However Never Talk About It And Nothing Much Bothers Them After That

The Crowd Is The Gathering Place Of The Weakest; True Creation Is A Solitary Act.

Death Meant Little To Me. It Was The Last Joke In A Series Of Bad Jokes.

The Human Race Had Always Disgusted Me. Essentially, What Made Them Disgusting Was The Family-relationship Illness, Which Included Marriage, Exchange Of Power And Aid, Which Neighborhood, Your District, Your City, Your County, Your State, Your Nation-everybody Grabbing Each Other's Assholes In The Honeycomb Of Survival Out Of A Fear-animalistic Stupidity.

When You Clean Up A City, You Destroy It.

Purple Does Something Strange To Me

Success Is Always Dangerous. It Can Make An Asshole Out Of Anybody.

If Something Burns Your Soul With Purpose And Desire, It’s Your Duty To Be Reduced To Ashes By It. Any Other Form Of Existence Will Be Yet Another Dull Book In The Library Of Life.

I Like Women Who Haven’t Lived With Too Many Men. I Don’t Expect Virginity But I Simply Prefer Women Who Haven’t Been Rubbed Raw By Experience. There Is A Quality About Women Who Choose Men Sparingly; It Appears In Their Walk In Their Eyes In Their Laughter And In Their Gentle Hearts. Women Who Have Had Too Many Men Seem To Choose The Next One Out Of Revenge Rather Than With Feeling. When You Play The Field Selfishly Everything Works Against You: One Can’t Insist On Love Or Demand Affection. You’re Finally Left With Whatever You Have Been Willing To Give Which Often Is: Nothing.

I Read My Books At Night, Like That, Under The Quilt With The Overheated Reading Lamp. Reading All Those Good Lines While Suffocating. It Was Magic.

We Are Here To Laugh At The Odds And Live Our Lives So Well That Death Will Tremble To Take Us.

You've Got To Burn Straight Up And Down And Then Maybe Sidewise For A While And Have Your Guts Scrambled By A Bully And The Demonic Ladies, You've Got To Run Along The Edge Of Madness Teetering, You've Got To Starve Like A Winter Alleycat, You've Go To Live With The Imbecility Of At Least A Dozen Cities, Then Maybe Maybe Maybe You Might Know Where You Are For A Tiny Blinking Moment.

Alone With Everybody The Flesh Covers The Bone And They Put A Mind In There And Sometimes A Soul, And The Women Break Vases Against The Walls And Them Men Drink Too Much And Nobody Finds The One But They Keep Looking Crawling In And Out Of Beds. Flesh Covers The Bone And The Flesh Searches For More Than Flesh. There's No Chance At All: We Are All Trapped By A Singular Fate. Nobody Ever Finds The One. The City Dumps Fill The Junkyards Fill The Madhouses Fill The Hospitals Fill The Graveyards Fill Nothing Else Fills.

That Was The Trouble With Being A Writer, That Was The Main Trouble—leisure Time, Excessive Leisure Time. You Had To Wait Around For The Buildup Until You Could Write And While You Were Waiting You Went Crazy, And While You Were Going Crazy You Drank And The More You Drank The Crazier You Got.

We Drove On And On, Past Little Villages And Both Good Things And Bad Things Were Happening To The People In Those Villages Too, But I Still Was Nothing But Arms And Ears And Eyes And Maybe There'd Be Either Some Good Luck For Me Or More Death Tomorrow.

I Don't Carry Notebooks And I Don't Consciously Store Ideas. I Try Not To Think That I Am A Writer And I Am Pretty Good At Doing That. I Don't Like Writers, But Then I Don't Like Insurance Salesmen Either.

I Felt Like Crying But Nothing Came Out. It Was Just A Sort Of Sad Sickness, Sick Sad, When You Can't Feel Any Worse. I Think You Know It. I Think Everybody Knows It Now And Then. But I Think I Have Known It Pretty Often, Too Often.

What's Genius? I Don't Know But I Do Know That The Difference Between A Madman And A Professional Is That A Pro Does As Well As He Can Within What He Has Set Out To Do And A Madman Does Exceptionally Well At What He Can't Help Doing.

I Was In Love Again. I Was In Trouble

Some Of My Poems Indicate That I Am Writing While Living Alone After A Split With A Woman, And I've Had Many Splits With Women. I Need Solitude More Often When I'm Not Writing Than When I Am.

A Woman Must Be Nursed Into Subsistence By Love, Where A Man Can Become Stronger By Being Hated." - From 'cows In Art Class

You Fall Into The Mirror, Come Through The Other Side Staring At A Lightbulb.

Beware Those Quick To Praise For They Need Praise In Return Beware Those Who Are Quick To Censor They Are Afraid Of What They Do Not Know Beware Those Who Seek Constant Crowds For They Are Nothing Alone Beware The Average Man The Average Woman Beware Their Love, Their Love Is Average Seeks Average

Once In A Dream I Saw A Snake Swallowing Its Own Tail, It Swallowed And Swallowed Until It Got Halfway Round, And There It Stopped And There It Stayed, It Was Stuffed With Its Own Self. Some Fix, That. We Only Have Ourselves To Go On, And It's Enough.

I Wasn’t Going Anywhere And Neither Was The Rest Of The World. We Were All Just Hanging Around Waiting To Die And Meanwhile Doing Little Things To Fill The Space. Some Of Use Weren’t Even Doing Little Things. We Were Vegetables.

There's A Small Balcony Here, The Door Is Open And I Can See The Lights Of The Cars On The Harbor Freeway South, They Never Stop, That Roll Of Lights, On And On. All Those People. What Are They Doing? What Are They Thinking? We're All Going To Die, All Of Us, What A Circus! That Alone Should Make Us Love Each Other But It Doesn't.

You Are On The Freeway Threading Through Traffic Now, Moving Both Towards Something And Towards Nothing At All As You Punch The Radio On And Get Mozart, Which Is Something, And You Will Somehow Get Through The Slow Days And The Busy Days And The Dull Days And The Hateful Days And The Rare Days, All Both So Delightful And So Disappointing Because We Are All So Alike And So Different.

It's Better To Be Happy...if You Can..!!

Why Did I Come Here? I Thought. Why Is It Always Only A Matter Of Choosing Between Something Bad And Something Worse?

Stay With The Beer. Beer Is Continuous Blood. A Continuous Lover.

I Had No Interests. I Had No Interest In Anything. I Had No Idea How I Was Going To Escape. At Least The Others Had Some Taste For Life. They Seemed To Understand Something That I Didn’t Understand. Maybe I Was Lacking. It Was Possible. I Often Felt Inferior. I Just Wanted To Get Away From Them. But There Was No Place To Go. Suicide? Jesus Christ, Just More Work. I Felt Like Sleeping For Five Years But They Wouldn’t Let Me.

Sometimes There's Nothing To Say About Death.

The Masses Are Everywhere They Know How To Do Things: They Have Sane And Deadly Angers For Sane And Deadly Things.

Long Before I Became 'rich And Famous' I Just Sat Round Drinking Wine And Staring At The Walls.

I Walked Around The Block Twice, Passed 200 People And Failed To See A Human Being.

Angels, We Have Grown Apart.

Courts Are Places Where The Ending Is Written First And All That Precedes Is Simply Vaudeville.

There's No Way I Can Stop Writing, It's A Form Of Insanity.

I Always Started A Job With The Feeling That I'd Soon Quit Or Be Fired, And This Gave Ma A Relaxex Manner That Was Mistaken For Intelligence Or Some Secret Power.

Well, I Don't Know About You But I'm Going To Try Everything! War, Women, Travel, Marriage, Children, The Works. [...]. I Want To Know About Things, What Makes Them Work!

And Our Few Good Times Will Be Rare Because We Have The Critical Sense And Are Not Easy To Fool With Laughter

I Never Met Another Man I'd Rather Be. And Even If That's A Delusion, It's A Lucky One.

I Like To Change Liquor Stores Frequently Because The Clerks Got To Know Your Habits If You Went In Night And Day And Bought Huge Quantities. I Could Feel Them Wondering Why I Wasn't Dead Yet And It Made Me Uncomfortable. They Probably Weren't Thinking Any Such Thing, But Then A Man Gets Paranoid When He Has 300 Hangovers A Year.

Death Is Nothing, Brother, It's Life That's Hard

You Boys Can Keep Your Virgins Give Me Hot Old Women In High Heels With Asses That Forgot To Get Old.

I Lapsed Into My Pathetic Cut-off Period. Often With Humans, Both Good And Bad, My Senses Simply Shut Off, They Get Tired, I Give Up. I Am Polite. I Nod. I Pretend To Understand Because I Don’t Want Anybody To Be Hurt. That Is The One Weakness That Has Lead Me Into The Most Trouble. Trying To Be Kind To Others I Often Get My Soul Shredded Into A Kind Of Spiritual Pasta. No Matter. My Brain Shuts Off. I Listen. I Respond. And They Are Too Dumb To Know That I Am Not There.

When I Get Down To My Last Dime I'll Just Walk Over To Skid Row." "there Are Some Real Weirdos Down There." "they're Everywhere.

If You Want To Create, You'll Create.

Some Men Hope For Revolution But When You Revolt And Set Up Your New Government You Find Your New Government Is Still The Same Old Papa, He Has Only Put On A Cardboard Mask.

We Are Here To Laugh At The Odds.

Fiction Is An Improvement On Life

My Greatest Problem Was Stamps, Envelopes, Paper And Wine, With The World On The Edge Of World War Ii.

The Writer Has No Responsibility Other Than To Jack Off In Bed Alone And Write A Good Page.

Being Alone Never Felt Right. Sometimes It Felt Good, But It Never Felt Right.

Loneliness And Solitude

I Hated You When It Would Have Taken Less Courage To Love.

Courage To Love

If You Think They Didn't Go Crazy In Tiny Rooms Just Like You're Doing Now Without Women Without Food Without Hope Then You're Not Ready.

Where Some God Pissed A Rain Of Reason To Make Things Grow Only To Die.

Writers Are Desperate People And When They Stop Being Desperate They Stop Being Writers.

A Spark Can Set A Whole Forest On Fire. Just A Spark. Save It.

Be It Peace Or Happiness Let It Enfold You

Love Breaks My Bones And I Laugh

I Carry Death In My Left Pocket. Sometimes I Take It Out And Talk To It: "hello, Baby, How You Doing? When You Coming For Me? I'll Be Ready.

There's A Bluebird In My Heart That Wants To Get Out But I'm Too Clever, I Only Let Him Out At Night Sometimes When Everybody's Asleep. I Say, I Know That You're There, So Don't Be Sad. Then I Put Him Back, But He's Singing A Little In There, I Haven't Quite Let Him Die And We Sleep Together Like That With Our Secret Pact And It's Nice Enough To Make A Man Weep, But I Don't Weep, Do You?

Human Relationships Simply Aren't Durable. I Think Back To The Women In My Life. They Seem Non-existent.

The Last Cigarettes Are Smoked, The Loaves Are Sliced, And Lest This Be Taken For Wry Sorrow, Drown The Spider In Wine. You Are Much More Than Simply Dead: I Am A Dish For Your Ashes, I Am A Fist For Your Vanished Air. The Most Terrible Thing About Life Is Finding It Gone.

And If There Is Anybody Out There Who Is Crazy Enough To Want To Become A Writer, I'd Say Go Ahead, Spit In The Eye Of The Sun, Hit Those Keys, It's The Best Madness Going, The Centuries Need Help, The Species Cry For Light And Gamble And Laughter. Give It To Them. There Are Enough Words For All Of Us.

Each Person Is Only Given So Many Evenings And Each Wasted Evening Is A Gross Violation Against The Natural Course Of Your Only Life.

They Simply Never Understand, Do They, That Sometimes Solitude Is One Of The Most Beautiful Things On Earth?

The Way To Create Art Is To Burn And Destroy Ordinary Concepts And To Substitute Them With New Truths That Run Down From The Top Of The Head And Out Of The Heart

I Went To The Bathroom And Threw Some Water On My Face, Combed My Hair. If I Could Only Comb That Face, I Thought, But I Can't.

You Have My Soul And I Have Your Money

Keep Your Money In Your Pocket. Or Bet It On A Good Horse.

It’s Never Quite Right, All The Things We Are Taught, All The Loves We Chase, All The Deaths We Die, All The Lives We Live.

There's Nothing Else As Pleasant As Being Unpleasant When There's Nothing Else To Do, And There's Usually Nothing Else To Do.

I Suppose Like Others I Have Come Through Fire And Sword, Love Gone Wrong, Head-on Crashes, Drunk At Sea, And I Have Listened To The Simple Sound Of Water Running In Tubs And Wished To Drown

I Walk Into The Kitchen, Look At The Typer Down There On The Floor. It's A Dirty Floor. It's A Dirty Typer That Types Dirty Stories

I Remember Awakening One Morning And Finding Everything Smeared With The Color Of Forgotten Love.

And Even The Trees We Walked Under Seemed Less Than Trees And More Like Everything Else.

There's A Bluebird In My Heart That Wants To Get Out But I Pour Whiskey On Him And Inhale Cigarette Smoke And The Whores And The Bartenders And The Grocery Clerks Never Know That He's In There.

Cigarette Smoke

A Man Needed Somebody. There Wasn't Anybody Around, So You Had To Make Up Somebody, Make Him Up To Be Like A Man Should Be. It Wasn't Make-believe Or Cheating. The Other Way Was Make-believe And Cheating: Living Your Life Without A Man Like Him Around.

I Went Home Each Night Dizzy And Sick. He Was Murdering Me With The Sound Of His Voice.

I Could Read The Great Books But The Great Books Don't Interest Me.

It Was Only The Matter Of A New Voice. Nobody Listened To An Old Voice Anymore. Old Voices Became A Part Of One's Self, Like A Fingernail.

Beware Those Who Are Always Reading Books

I Don't Think I'll Travel Anymore. Travel Is Nothing But An Inconvenience. There Is Always Enough Trouble Where You Are.

That Your Power Of Command With Simple Language Was One Of The Magnificent Things Of Our Century. (from The Poem: Result)

After Dinner Or Lunch Or Whatever It Was -- With My Crazy 12-hour Night I Was No Longer Sure What Was What -- I Said, "look, Baby, I'm Sorry, But Don't You Realize That This Job Is Driving Me Crazy? Look, Let's Give It Up. Let's Just Lay Around And Make Love And Take Walks And Talk A Little. Let's Go To The Zoo. Let's Look At Animals. Let's Drive Down And Look At The Ocean. It's Only 45 Minutes. Let's Play Games In The Arcades. Let's Go To The Races, The Art Museum, The Boxing Matches. Let's Have Friends. Let's Laugh. This Kind Of Life Like Everybody Else's Kind Of Life: It's Killing Us.

Morning Night And Noon The Traffic Moves Through And The Murder And Treachery Of Friends And Lovers And All The People Move Through You. Pain Is The Joy Of Knowing The Unkindest Truth That Arrives Without Warning. Life Is Being Alone Death Is Being Alone. Even The Fools Weep Morning Night And Noon.

And It Seems People Should Not Build Houses Anymore It Seems People Should Stop Working And Sit In Small Rooms On Second Floors Under Electric Lights Without Shades; It Seems There Is A Lot To Forget And A Lot Not To Do And In Drugstores, Markets, Bars, The People Are Tired, They Do Not Want To Move, And I Stand There At Night And Look Through This House And The House Does Not Want To Be Built

When You Leave Your Typewriter You Leave Your Machine Gun And The Rats Come Pouring Through.

I Stopped Looking For A Dream Girl, I Just Wanted One That Wasn't A Nightmare.

If You Want To Know Where God Is, Ask A Drunk.

I Often Carry Things To Read So That I Will Not Have To Look At The People.

A Yet Women -good Women- Frightened Me Because They Eventually Wanted Your Soul, And What Was Left Of Mine, I Wanted To Keep. Basically I Craved Prostitutes, Base Women, Because They Were Deadly And Hard And Made No Personal Demands. Nothing Was Lost When They Left. Yet At The Same Time I Yearned For A Gentle, Good Woman, Despite The Overwhelming Price.

The World Is Full Of Boring, Identical And Mindless People.

..few Writers Like Other Writers' Works. The Only Time They Like Them Is When They Are Dead Or If They Have Been For A Long Time. Writers Only Like To Sniff Their Own Turds. I Am One Of Those. I Don't Even Like To Talk To Writers, Look At Them Or Worse, Listen To Them. And The Worst Is To Drink With Them, They Slobber All Over Themselves, Really Look Piteous, Look Like They Are Searching For The Wing Of The Mother. I'd Rather Think About Death Than About Other Writers. Far More Pleasant.

A Day Of Minor Profit Or Prophet Led To A Night Of Drunkenness.

There's A Light Somewhere. It May Not Be Much Light But It Beats The Darkness.

The Whole Lsd, Stp, Marijuana, Heroin, Hashish, Prescription Cough Medicine Crowd Suffers From The "watchtower" Itch: You Gotta Be With Us, Man, Or You're Out, You're Dead. This Pitch Is A Continual And Seeming Must With Those Who Use The Stuff. It's No Wonder They Keep Getting Busted.

But Isn't There Always One Good Thing To Look Back On? Think Of How Many Cups Of Coffee We Drank Together.

They Never Pay The Slaves Enough So They Can Get Free, Just Enough So They Can Stay Alive And Come Back To Work.

Without Literature, Life Is Hell.

People Just Don't Know How To Write Down A Simple Easy Line. It's Difficult For Them; It's Like Trying To Keep A Hard-on While Drowning - Not Many Can Do It.

Sex Is Interesting, But It's Not Totally Important. I Mean It's Not Even As Important (physically) As Excretion. A Man Can Go Seventy Years Without A Piece Of Ass, But He Can Die In A Week Without A Bowel Movement.

Almost Everybody Is Born A Genius And Buried An Idiot.

Thought Provoking

What Good Are You? What Can You Do? It Has Cost Me A Thousands Of Dollars To Raise You, Feed You, Clothe You! Suppose I Left You Here On The Street? Then What Would You Do?" "catch Butterflies

Great Writers Are Indecent People They Live Unfairly Saving The Best Part For Paper. Good Human Beings Save The World So That Bastards Like Me Can Keep Creating Art, Become Immortal. If You Read This After I Am Dead It Means I Made It.

Poetry Is What Happens When Nothing Else Can.

But She Projected Vitality - You Knew That She Was There.

Potential," I Said, "doesn't Mean A Thing. You've Got To Do It. Almost Every Baby In A Crib Has More Potential Than I Have.

I Met A Genius On The Train Today About 6 Years Old, He Sat Beside Me And As The Train Ran Down Along The Coast We Came To The Ocean And Then He Looked At Me And Said, It’s Not Pretty.

Food Is Good For The Nerves And The Spirit. Courage Comes From The Belly – All Else Is Desperation.

You Are Thirty Minutes Late." "yes." "would You Be Thirty Minutes Late To A Wedding Or A Funeral?" "no." "why Not, Pray Tell?" "well, If The Funeral Was Mine I'd Have To Be On Time. If The Wedding Was Mine It Would Be My Funeral.

Don't Wait For The Good Woman. She Doesn't Exist.

The Trouble With A Mask Is It Never Changes

Gradually I Came To Realize That My Understanding Of Women Goes Only As Far As The Pleasure Is Concerned.

I Do Not Like To Work And Have No Trade But I Do Like To Eat, So This Is Basic, The Basic Training Of Slaves To Fear.

They Thought I Had Guts They Were Wrong I Was Only Frightened Of More Important Things

When A Writer Is Swayed With His Fame And His Fortune, You Can Float Him Down The River With The Turds.

Pretty Words, As Pretty Women, Wrinkle Up And Die.

I Enjoy The Bad Things That Are Said About Me. It Enhances Sales And Makes Me Feel Evil. I Don't Like To Feel Good 'cause I Am Good. But Evil? Yes. It Gives Me Another Dimension.

Now Something So Sad Has Hold Of Us That The Breath Leaves And We Can't Even Cry.

It’s Hard To Drink When You Dance. And It’s Hard To Dance When You Drink.

It’s Nice Enough To Make A Man Weep, But I Don’t Weep, Do You?

And The Color In My Eyes Has Gone Back Into The Sea.

We Only Asked For Leopards To Guard Our Thinning Dreams.

Like The Fox I Run With The Hunted And If I’m Not The Happiest Man On Earth I’m Surely The Luckiest Man Alive.

Drinking Is An Emotional Thing. It Joggles You Out Of The Standardism Of Everyday Life, Out Of Everything Being The Same.

The Streets Were Full Of Insane & Dull People. Most Of Them Lived In Nice Houses And Didn't Seem To Work, And You Wondered How They Did It.

When I Am Feeling Low All I Have To Do Is Watch My Cats And My Courage Returns

All That I Know Is That I Believe In The Sound Of Music And The Running Of A Horse. All Else Is Squabble.

Real Loneliness Is Not Necessarily Limited To When You Are Alone.

I Have Been Treated Better Than I Should Have Been---not By Life In General Nor By The Machinery Of Things But By Women.

Human Relationships Are Strange. I Mean, You Are With One Person A While, Eating And Sleeping And Living With Them, Loving Them, Talking To Them, Going Places Together, And Then It Stops.

The Problem With The World Is That The Intelligent People Are Full Of Doubts, While The Stupid Ones Are Full Of Confidence.

Yes?’ He Asked, Looking At Me Over The Sheet. ‘i’m A Writer Temporarily Down On My Inspirations.’ ‘oh, A Writer, Eh?’ ‘yes.’ ‘are You Sure?’ ‘no, I’m Not.’ ‘what Do You Write?’ ‘short Stories Mostly. And I’m Halfway Through A Novel.’ ‘a Novel, Eh?’ ‘yes.’ ‘what’s The Name Of It?’ ‘”the Leaky Faucet Of My Doom.”‘ ‘oh, I Like That. What’s It About?’ ‘everything.’ ‘everything? You Mean, For Instance, It’s About Cancer?’ ‘yes.’ ‘how About My Wife?’ ‘she’s In There Too.

I Am A Poem. There Is No Way Out.

If You Can't Write The Next Line, Well, You're Dead. The Past Doesn't Matter.

Boring Damned People. All Over The Earth. Propagating More Boring Damned People. What A Horror Show. The Earth Swarmed With Them.

I Wasn't Sleeping On The Streets At Night. Of Course, There Were A Lot Of Good People Sleeping In The Streets. They Weren't Fools, They Just Didn't Fit Into The Needed Machinery Of The Moment. And Those Needs Kept Altering.

Show Me A Man Who Lives Alone And Has A Perpetually Clean Kitchen, And 8 Times Out Of 9 I'll Show You A Man With Detestable Spiritual Qualities.

Four Days Alone With Nothing. Emerge Empowered. The First Human Face You See Will Knock You Back 50%.

Your Writing", She Said To Me, "it's So Raw. It's Like A Sledgehammer, And Yet It Has Humor And Tenderness. . . .

The Courage It Took To Get Out Of Bed Each Morning To Face The Same Things Over And Over Was Enormous.

I Am Not Like Other People. I Am Burning In Hell. The Hell Of Myself.

"baby," I Said. "i'm A Genius But Nobody Knows It But Me."

Well, We Lost It, And That’s All There Is To That.

Women: I Liked The Colors Of Their Clothing; The Way They Walked; The Cruelty In Some Faces; Now And Then The Almost Pure Beauty In Another Face, Totally And Enchantingly Female. They Had It Over Us: They Planned Much Better And Were Better Organized. While Men Were Watching Professional Football Or Drinking Beer Or Bowling, They, The Women, Were Thinking About Us, Concentrating, Studying, Deciding - Whether To Accept Us, Discard Us, Exchange Us, Kill Us Or Whether Simply To Leave Us. In The End It Hardly Mattered; No Matter What They Did, We Ended Up Lonely And Insane.

Human Relationships Didn't Work Anyhow. Only The First Two Weeks Had Any Zing, Then The Participants Lost Their Interest. Masks Dropped Away And Real People Began To Appear: Cranks, Imbeciles, The Demented, The Vengeful, Sadists, Killers. Modern Society Had Created Its Own Kind And They Feasted On Each Other. It Was A Duel To The Death--in A Cesspool.

... To Die On A Kitchen Floor At 7 O'clock In The Morning While Other People Are Frying Eggs Is Not So Rough Unless It Happens To You.

I Can Never Drive My Car Over A Bridge Without Thinking Of Suicide. I Can Never Look At A Lake Or An Ocean Without Thinking Of Suicide.

Love Is A Dog From Hell.

There Is No Hurry. Time Means Nothing To You.

Sexual Intercourse Is Kicking Death In The Ass While Singing.

Sometimes You Just Have To Pee In The Sink.

Humanity, You Never Had It To Begin With.

In A Capitalistic Society The Losers Slaved For The Winners And You Have To Have More Losers Than Winners.

I Have Gotten So Used To Melancholia That I Greet It Like An Old Friend.

I Am Not A Snob; It Is Simply That I Am Not Interested With What Most People Have To Say, Or What They Want To Do — Mostly With My Time.

The Problem Was You Had To Keep Choosing Between One Evil Or Another, And No Matter What You Chose, They Sliced A Little Bit More Off You, Until There Was Nothing Left.

If You Can Hit A Guy Once, You Can Hit Him Twice.

I Was A Man Who Thrived On Solitude; Without It I Was Like Another Man Without Food Or Water. Each Day Without Solitude Weakened Me. I Took No Pride In My Solitude; But I Was Dependent On It. The Darkness Of The Room Was Like Sunlight To Me.

The Impossibility Of Being Human All Too Human This Breathing In And Out Out And In These Punks These Cowards These Champions These Mad Dogs Of Glory Moving This Little Bit Of Light Toward Us Impossibly.

Why Do We Embroider Everything We Say With Special Emphasis When All We Really Need To Do Is Simply Say What Needs To He Said? Of Course The Fact Is That There Is Very Little That Needs To Be Said.

I Was Beaten Down Long Ago In Some Alley In Another World.

There Would Never Be A Way For Me To Live Comfortably With People. Maybe I'd Become A Monk. I'd Pretend To Believe In God And Live In A Cubicle, Play An Organ And Stay Drunk On Wine.

I Guess We Often Get The Deep Blues, Both Of Us, And Wonder What It All Means- The People, The Buildings, The Day By Day Things, The Waste Of Time, Of Ourselves.

If I Hadn't Been A Drunkard, I Probably Would Have Committed Suicide Long Ago.

Wherever The Crowd Goes Run In The Other Direction. They're Always Wrong.

I Made Practice Runs Down To Skid Row To Get Ready For My Future.

The Writing Of Some Men Is Like A Vast Bridge That Carries You Over The Many Things That Claw And Tear. The Wine Of Forever

People Empty Me. I Have To Get Away To Refill.

Only The Boring Get Bored

If You Have The Ability To Love, Love Yourself First.

Ability To Love

First Paycheck I Get, I Thought, I'm Going To Get Myself A Room Near The Downtown L.a. Public Library.

I Don't Know If This Is True To You But For Me Sometimes It Gets So Bad That Anything Else Say Like Looking At A Bird On An Overhead Power Line Seems As Great As A Beethoven Symphony. Then You Forget It And You're Back Again.

I Feel Strangely Normal.

Disneyland Remains The Central Attraction Of Southern California, But The Graveyard Remains Our Reality.

If You're Losing Your Soul And You Know It, Then You've Still Got A Soul Left To Lose.

Thought Provoking

Style Means No Shield At All. Style Means No Front At All. Style Means Ultimate Naturalness. Style Means One Man Alone With Billions Of Men About.

People Are Strange: They Are Constantly Angered By Trivial Things, But On A Major Matter Like Totally Wasting Their Lives, They Hardly Seem To Notice.

People Just Weren't Interesting. Maybe They Weren't Supposed To Be. But Animals, Birds, Even Insects Were. I Couldn't Understand It.

There Still Might Be A Place For Us Somewhere.

The Ladies Usually Go For The Biggest Damn Fool They Can Find; That Is Why The Human Race Stands Where It Does Today: We Have Bred The Clever And Lasting Casanovas, All Hollow Inside, Like The Chocolate Easter Bunnies We Foster Upon Our Poor Children.

Great Art Is Horseshit, Buy Tacos.

Art Is Its Own Excuse, And It's Either Art Or It's Something Else. It's Either A Poem Or A Piece Of Cheese.

It Was Better For Me When I Could Imagine Greatness In Others, Even If It Wasn't Always There.

I Once Lay In A White Hospital For The Dying And The Dying Self, Where Some God Pissed A Rain Of Reason To Make Things Grow Only To Die, Where On My Knees I Prayed For Light, I Prayed For L*i*g*h*t, And Praying Crawled Like A Blind Slug Into The Web Where Threads Of Wind Stuck Against My Mind And I Died Of Pity For Man, For Myself, On A Cross Without Nails, Watching In Fear As The Pig Belches In His Sty, Farts, Blinks And Eats.

I Can See Where Creation Often Stops While The Body Still Lives And Often Does Not Care To. The Death Of Life Before Life Dies.

We Sat There Smoking Cigarettes At 5 In The Morning.

Dog Is Much Admired By Man Because He Believes In The Hand Which Feeds Him. A Perfect Set-up. For 13 Cents A Day You've Got A Hired Killer Who Thinks You Are God. A Dog Can't Tell A Nazi From A Republican From A Commie From A Democrat And, Many Times, Neither Can I.

Her Eyes Always Had A Frantic, Lost Look. He Could Never Cure Her Eyes Of That.

A Man Who Can Beat The Horses Can Do Anything He Makes Up His Mind To Do.

Drinking Is An Emotional Thing. It Joggles You Out Of The Standardism Of Everyday Life, Out Of Everything Being The Same. It Yanks You Out Of Your Body And Your Mind And Throws You Against The Wall. I Have The Feeling That Drinking Is A Form Of Suicide Where You're Allowed To Return To Life And Begin All Over The Next Day. It's Like Killing Yourself, And Then You're Reborn. I Guess I've Lived About Ten Or Fifteen Thousand Lives Now.

Everything Is Beautiful. We Have All This Beauty In The World And All We Have To Do Is Reach Out And Touch It, It Is All There And All Ours For The Taking." -- Cecilia To Henry Chinaski, Liberty Taken Changing Past Tense To Present Tense (173)

We Are Like Roses That Have Never Bothered To Bloom When We Should Have Bloomed And It Is As If The Sun Has Become Disgusted With Waiting

The Best Often Die By Their Own Hand Just To Get Away, And Those Left Behind Can Never Quite Understand Why Anybody Would Ever Want To Get Away From Them

So, That’s What They Wanted: Lies. Beautiful Lies. That’s What They Needed. People Were Fools. It Was Going To Be Easy For Me.

Homosexuals Are Delicate And Bad Poetry Is Delicate And [allen] Ginsberg Turned The Tables By Making Homosexual Poetry Strong Poetry, Almost Manly Poetry; But In The Long Run, The Homo Will Remain The Homo And Not The Poet.

Trending Author

Rosalynn Carter

Jon Huntsman, Jr.

Category