Charles Bukowski


  • The Obsidian Tower

    there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
    human being to supply any given army on any given day

    and the best at murder are those who preach against it
    and the best at hate are those who preach love
    and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

    those who preach god, need god
    those who preach peace do not have peace
    those who preach peace do not have love

    beware the preachers
    beware the knowers
    beware those who are always reading books
    beware those who either detest poverty
    or are proud of it
    beware those quick to praise
    for they need praise in return
    beware those who are quick to censor
    they are afraid of what they do not know
    beware those who seek constant crowds for
    they are nothing alone
    beware the average man the average woman
    beware their love, their love is average
    seeks average

    but there is genius in their hatred
    there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
    to kill anybody
    not wanting solitude
    not understanding solitude
    they will attempt to destroy anything
    that differs from their own
    not being able to create art
    they will not understand art
    they will consider their failure as creators
    only as a failure of the world
    not being able to love fully
    they will believe your love incomplete
    and then they will hate you
    and their hatred will be perfect

    like a shining diamond
    like a knife
    like a mountain
    like a tiger
    like hemlock

    their finest art

    • Charles Bukowski
    • The Genius Of The Crowd

  • The Obsidian Tower

    Van Gogh writing his brother for paints
    Hemingway testing his shotgun
    Celine going broke as a doctor of medicine
    the impossibility of being human
    Villon expelled from Paris for being a thief
    Faulkner drunk in the gutters of his town
    the impossibility of being human
    Burroughs killing his wife with a gun
    Mailer stabbing his
    the impossibility of being human
    Maupassant going mad in a rowboat
    Dostoyevsky lined up against a wall to be shot
    Crane off the back of a boat into the propeller
    the impossibility
    Sylvia with her head in the oven like a baked potato
    Harry Crosby leaping into that Black Sun
    Lorca murdered in the road by Spanish troops
    the impossibility
    Artaud sitting on a madhouse bench
    Chatterton drinking rat poison
    Shakespeare a plagiarist
    Beethoven with a horn stuck into his head against deafness
    the impossibility the impossibility
    Nietzsche gone totally mad
    the impossibility of being human
    all too human
    this breathing
    in and out
    out and in
    these punks
    these cowards
    these champions
    these mad dogs of glory
    moving this little bit of light toward us
    impossibly.

    • Charles Bukowski
    • Beasts Bounding Through Time

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