born a year too late to ever be in the same room as Bukowski. I don't remember the very first thing I read from him, (I fondly remember reading Fire Station in high school from a now-lost copy of Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit, that work stuck in my mind since then) but in-between his words is the only place my chest gets a certain sticky feeling. it's almost warm but more accurately the abrasive friction gives me a rash. i know what will happen when i scratch but it feels too good.
up reading The Bell Tolls for No One instead of my laundry or my dishes. it's been due at the library for months but i don't want to return it.
also: I first read Post Office when I worked at the P.O. and i was often comforted by his perspective during the hell that was that.
I have been writing poetry ever since i can remember and Bukowski remains one of my favorite writers and unrequited rivals. I make zines.
last edit: really excited to be here and i will be reading everything i can, thanks for collecting and discussing his work
up reading The Bell Tolls for No One instead of my laundry or my dishes. it's been due at the library for months but i don't want to return it.
also: I first read Post Office when I worked at the P.O. and i was often comforted by his perspective during the hell that was that.
I have been writing poetry ever since i can remember and Bukowski remains one of my favorite writers and unrequited rivals. I make zines.
last edit: really excited to be here and i will be reading everything i can, thanks for collecting and discussing his work
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