(fonte aqui) I was so sorry that I would never possess anything good; that nothing good would ever belong to me. Not because I was always poor in dollars But because I was poor at expressing myself one-on-one. I was as yellow as the sun perhaps but also as warm and as true as the sun somewhere there inside me but nobody would ever find it. Charles Bukowski
all her books of terrified loneliness all her books about the cruelty of loveless love were all that was left of her as the strolling vacationer discovered her body notified the captain and she was quickly dispatched to somewhere else on the ship as everything continued just as she had written it Charles Bukowski , Poems Carefully Chosen
(fonte aqui) Não tenho o hábito de beber cerveja (se tivesse, talvez o trocadilho me saísse melhor), mas tenho o de beber Bukowski. E se há coisa que ele é, é sábio.
( http://modosdeolhar.blogspot.pt/2013/01/helder-reis-fotografia.html ) The Crunch too much too little too fat too thin or nobody. laughter or tears haters lovers strangers with faces like the backs of thumb tacks armies running through streets of blood waving winebottles bayoneting and fucking virgins. an old guy in a cheap room with a photograph of M. Monroe. there is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock people so tired mutilated either by love or no love. people just are not good to each other one on one. the rich are not good to the rich the poor are not good to the poor. we are afraid. our educational system tells us that we can all be big-ass winners. it hasn't told us about the gutters or the suicides. or the terror of one person aching in one place alone untouch...