Bukowski Stories

Le cri des mouettes À Toulouse, Pilule et Mélissa discutent en bas de l'immeuble : -Je sais que tu peux te lever grosse pute. -Mais non, j'ai choppé une maladie à cause de le Ké j'te dis... - ça existe même pas une maladie où tu peux plus marcher à cause de la Ké, pov' conne. Pourquoi tu continues d'en prendre si c'est ça qui t'as mise en chaise roulante ? - Bah j'suis dépendante, mais je pense que ça pourra me guérir aussi. Pilule tend un billet de 50 balles à Mélissa qui l'inspecte avec un œil fermé, sous la lumière du jour, comme si le soleil était une lampe et comme si elle savait reconnaitre les faux billets. Elle froisse les 50 balles et les fout dans la poche gauche de son baggy pas assez large pour son embonpoint. Elle doit pousser avec son index pour bien l'enfoncer et être certaines qu'il tombe pas pendant qu'elle marche parce que ça lui est arrivé plein de fois de perdre sa thune comme ça.

concentrated, intense, quick.

La breve historia del heredero de un latifundista cuya existencia se sobrepuso a su utilidad.

A book of poems and short stories. A conscious crisis about heartbreak, madness, carnal sin, and the promise of liberation.

This is my take on poetry, life, sanity and insanity.

This is a collection of short poems-whether you find them nihilistic, thought-provoking, or interesting is up to you; but to me it's just some left over scraps of paper I happened to resurface from my garbage can... hope you enjoy it though. P.S. (some of them won't rhyme, but whatever right?) Like a once wise, old ,sad man once said, "Don't try" ~Charles Bukowski

coitus_vibes

Part of the work, which was not included in the first collection, will gain attention here. Talk about what's inside, not worth it. Just open. Leaf through. Take time to this work. It will give you food for thought. And stay human.

Thoughts and ideas presented loosely as a novel. First draft.

Following a traumatic divorce, the protagonist's world crumbles as his ex-wife transfers their children to another country. A place he cannot visit. Using them as pawns in a bizarre game of manipulation and silence. What follows is a terrifying plunge into darkness--a life in which one day blends into the next, strangling him under the weight of depression, loneliness, and unending remorse. This book is a chronological chronicle of his life following the divorce, charting his journey from rock bottom to the man he is now. This book is a chronological account of his life after the divorce, tracing his path from rock bottom to the man he is today. Each chapter reveals the raw, unfiltered moments of survival as he battles his demons-fleeting escapes through rooftop parties, intoxicating women, and drugs providing only temporary relief. But beneath the numbness, a deeper battle brews: the fight to rise from the ashes of his own self-destruction. At the heart of his journey lies an unwavering desire for redemption. He is torn between succumbing to the void and becoming the father he never had, the father his children deserve. Yet, to reclaim his connection with them, he must first confront the darkness within, facing the whispers that tell him he's never enough. This is not just a story of survival-it's about rebuilding a life. The protagonist's fight is one of resilience, redemption, and the relentless pursuit of hope. As he pieces together what's left of his soul, will he rise to become the father he's destined to be? Or will his inner demons drag him back into the abyss?

'Tis my world,' professes the disheartened Dennis as he turns his back on his wife, his family, his work and all his vocations. When you leave all you knew behind... what's left, is only the furtive sputtering's of splendour! Told with prescience, heart and insight into the human conniption.

10 More Poems. From the soullll

Collection of poems

Toca el Piano Borracho Como Un Instrumento de Percusión Hasta Que Los Dedos Te Empiecen A Sangrar Un Poco ʺLo peor de todo es que algún tiempo después de mi muerte se me va a descubrir de verdad. Todos los que me tenían miedo o me odiaban cuando estaba vivo abrazarán de repente mi memoria. Mis palabras estarán en todas partes. Se crearan clubs sociales y sociedades. Será como para volverse loco. Se hará una película de mi vida. Me pintarán mucho más valiente de lo que soy y con mucho más talento del que tengo. Mucho más. Será como para hacer vomitar a los dioses. La especie humana lo exagera todo: a sus héroes, a sus enemigos, su importancia.ʺ Charles Bukowski

Just a poem

Pelangi jingga untuk ibu Meskipun pelangi ini tak sempurna, tapi setidaknya tulus kupersembahkan untuk ibu. Sejak kecil ibu gemar mendongengiku pelangi sejak itu pula benakku terisi dengan legenda tujuh bidadari yang mengunjungi bumi hanya untuk membersihkan diri. Konon, warna mejikuhibiniu, - yang kelak kutahu adalah pancaran cahaya atau spektrum itu berasal dari selendang bidadari yang beraneka ragam warna. Dongeng inilah yang kerap membuatku rindu pada ibu setiap kali pelangi hadir. Rindu yang menyergap setiap kali gerimis meratap. Aih, aku sangat merindukanmu ibu. Tapi rindu ini tak akan menepi, karena aku harus menyadari, seperti layaknya pelangi, ia hanya berada di langit. Bersambung.... Sekian terima kasih assalamualaikum nanti aku akan lanjutin y gais🙏