Category Archives: Genius


“writing has been my fountain of youth
my whore,
my love,
my gamble.

The gods have spoiled me.”

Charles Bukowski


“If you are going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery, isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you are going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It is the only good fight there is.”

Charles Bukowski


Movie of the day

Movie of the daytumblr_mvo7s6QPLt1rdtkdjo2_500

“Don’t forget me, my love. Please?”


Fat little Boh

Fat little Boh


Where Children Sleep

wcs2 wcs3 wcs4 wcs5 wcs6 wcs7 wcs8 wcs9 wcs10Where Children Sleep

Where Children Sleep photographed by James Mollison around the world.

“When photographer James Mollison was asked to do a project on children’s rights, he found himself thinking back to his childhood bedroom and the deep importance it played in his upbringing. Taking that idea with him around the world, he photographed a diverse cross section of children and the bedrooms they call home. His moving images remove the children from their home environment, showing them before a neutral background that mostly hides their economic status as if to say “kids are just kids.” Only when their bedroom is observed, however, does the full scope of their living situation become poiniently clear.”


Fingernails; Nostrils; Shoelaces

The gas line is leaking, the bird is gone from the

cage, the skyline is dotted with vultures;

Benny finally got off the stuff and Betty now has a job

as a waitress; and

the chimney sweep was quite delicate as he

giggled up through the


I walked miles through the city and recognized

nothing as a giant claw ate at my

stomach while the inside of my head felt

airy as if I was about to go


It’s not so much that nothing means

anything but more that it keeps meaning


there’s no release, just gurus and self-

appointed gods and hucksters.

The more people say, the less there is

to say.

Even the best books are dry sawdust.

I watch the boxing matches and take copious

notes on futility.

Then the gate springs open again

and there are beautiful silks

and powerful horses riding

against the sky.

Such sadness: everything trying to

break through into


Every day should be a miracle instead

of a machination.

In my hand rests the last bluebird.

The shades roar like lions and the walls

rattle, dance around my head.

Then her eyes look at me, love breaks my

bones and I


Charles Bukowski