MIND: Scorched

Many people are good to me. Many hate me. But there are some out there who know that I’m truly some kind of simple soul caught in a wild gamble. They know me. They know that I sit between these walls. They know I’ve been burned. And that I still laugh.

// Charles Bukowski, from a letter to Louise Webb

MIND: Sliced

…I’ve never felt good with the crowd. I never belonged, I still do not belong, but the worst part is I do not even belong with the best ones, the living ones. I seem sliced off forever by some god damn trick, either my imagining or some type of insanity, but even the good ones leave me dangling and I feel like a fool, and I know that I am a fool for I feel what I know…

Screams From The Balcony // Charles Bukowski

MIND: Resist

The problem was you had to keep choosing between between one evil and another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole goddamn nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidate who reminded them most of themselves.

I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape.

Ham on Rye // Charles Bukowski