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.
Charles BukowskiI wasnโt 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 werenโt even doing little things. We were vegetables.
Charles Bukowskithere is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given day and the best at murder are those who preach against it and the best at hate are those who preach love and the best at war finally are those who preach peace
Charles BukowskiWell, people got attatched. Once you cut the umbilical cord they attatched to the other things. Sight, sound, sex, money, mirages, mothers, masturbation, murder, and Monday morning hangovers.
Charles Bukowski