225 days under grass
and you know more than I.they have long taken your blood,
you are a dry stick in a basket.is this how it works?
in this room
the hours of love
still make shadows.when you left
you took almost
everything.I kneel in the nights
before tigers
that will not let me be.what you were
will not happen again.the tigers have found me
and I do not care.
-Charles Bukowski
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- Charles Bukowski
(via foreverforward)
Carson McCullers
she died of alcoholism
wrapped in a blanket
on a deck chair
on an ocean
steamer.
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-C. Bukowski
For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. But for those of us who can’t readily accept the God formula, the big answers don’t remain stone-written. We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god. We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.
