Favorite excerpts from Bukowski's collection of treasure? Maximum = 2 (1 Viewer)

Dear Friends,

Please don't forget to share what they meant to you, and how they've influenced your life!
I'm looking forward to seeing some milk and honey.

Yours truly,
I'll start.

My favorite excerpt(s) have got to be from "Women." and "Hot Water Music," In And Out And Over.

First, from "Hot Water Music," In And Out And Over :

I climbed out of the plane dragging my father’s
overcoat and my stash of poems.
Ann came up to
me. I saw her face and I thought, shit, I love
her. What am I going to do? The best I could do
was to act indifferent, then proceed with her
the parking lot. You must never let them
that you care or they will kill you.

What this excerpt meant to me was not just with women, or our loved ones. It made me feel as if giving our lives away to something with full commitment it will have us by the throat. It will, entirely, consume who we are as people and our own unique style. Hank really believed in sticking to our own style(s), and getting away from things that might have the chance at hurting us. I could go on all day, but I'm rather tired right now.

Second, a bit longer, but worth the read. I will make the font a tad bit smaller,
and hopefully this brings back some memories for a lot of you. This was
excerpt taken from "Women," right before chapter 12:

“YOU’RE NOT GOING!” she screamed at me.

“Shit,” I said, “I’m getting out of here.”

She leaped at me. She usually attacked
me while I was drunk. Now I was sober. I
sidestepped and she fell to the floor,
rolled over and was on her back. I stepped
over her on my way to the front door. She
was in a spitting rage, snarling snarling,
her lips pulled back. She was like a
leopardess. I looked down at her. I felt
safe with her on the floor. She let out a
snarl and as I started to leave she
reached up and dug her nails into the
sleeve of my coat, pulled and ripped the
sleeve off my arm. It was ripped from the
coat at the shoulder.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, “look what you’ve done to my new coat! I just bought it!”

I opened the door and jumped outside
with one bare arm. I had just unlocked the
door to my car when I heard her bare feet
on the asphalt behind me. I leaped in and
locked the door. I punched the starter.

“I’ll kill this car!” she screamed. “I’ll kill this car!”

Her fists beat on the hood, on the roof,
against the windshield. I moved the car
ahead very slowly so as not to injure her.
My ‘62 Mercury Comet had fallen apart, and
I’d recently purchased a ‘67 Volks. I kept
it shined and waxed. I even had a whisk
broom in the glove compartment. As I pulled
away Lydia kept beating on the car with her
fists. When I was clear of her I shoved it
into second. I looked in the rear view
and saw her standing all alone in the
moonlight, motionless in her blue negligee
and panties. My gut began to twitch and roll.
I felt ill, useless, sad. I was in love with

I remember the first time I read those paragraphs. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was like music to my ears, and at the same time unbelievable pain. How could something so precious be considered in such a hectic moment? I'll never know. I remember some interviewer asked Bukowski "One might get the impression that you find women to be objects," or something along those lines, and that really got under Bukowski's skin because that's exactly what he tried staying away from. The interviewer was very disrespectful in that manner, and I believe didn't intend to be rude-- but he sure as hell made Bukowski cringe. Anyway, this has been great! I really hope somebody else felt something close, maybe even, similar to what I experienced from these two excerpts!

I hope to see some milk and honey!

Best Regards,

p.s. I highlight the really dramatic (in my pov) parts of the work(s) red. Excuse me, but I cannot help it. (also, it implies that that is the exact lines that made it "click" inside my head).

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