By Charles Bukowski each man must realize that it can all disappear very quickly: the cat, the woman, the job, the front tire, the bed, the walls, the room; all our necessities including love, rest on foundations of sand – and any given cause, no matter how unrelated: the death of a boy in Hong Kong or a blizzard in Omaha … can serve as your undoing. all your chinaware crashing to the kitchen floor, your girl will enter and you’ll be standing, drunk, in the center of it and she’ll ask: my god, what’s the matter? and you’ll answer: I don’t know, I don’t know … – Posted from…

It was darker then, in the nights when the cars Came sliding around the traffic circle, when the headlights Speckled with rain traveled the bedroom walls and vanished; when the typewriter, the squeaking chair, the slow voice of the radio stirred the night air like a fan. Of course, the ones we loved were beautiful– slim, dark-haired, intent on their books. The rain came swishing against the lamp-lit windows. The cat purred in his chair. A clock sang, and we lay nearly asleep, almost dreaming, almost alone, nearly gone–the days fly so; and the nights, like sleep, disappear without memory. – Posted from my iPhone, early in the morning.

They could pump frenzy into air ducts and rage into reservoirs, dynamite dams and drown cities, cry fire in theaters as the victims are burning, but I will find my way through blackened streets and kneel down at your side. They could jump the median, head-on, and obliterate the future, fit .45’s to the hands of kids and skate them off to school, flip live butts into tinderbox forests and hellfire half the heavens, but in the rubble of smoking cottages I will hold you in my arms. They could send kidnappers to kindergartens and pedophiles to playgrounds, wrap themselves in Old Glory and gut the Bill of Rights, pound…

The other day I was ricocheting slowly off the blue walls of this room, moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano, from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor, when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard. No cookie nibbled by a French novelist could send one into the past more suddenly- a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake learning how to braid long thin plastic strips into a lanyard, a gift for my mother. I had never seen anyone use a lanyard or wear one, if that’s…

See how the first dark takes the city in its arms and carries it into what yesterday we called the future. O, the dying are such acrobats. Here you must take a boat from one day to the next, or clutch the girders of the bridge, hand over hand. But they are sailing like a pendulum between eternity and evening, diving, recovering, balancing the air. Who can tell at this hour seabirds from starlings, wind from revolving doors or currents off the river. Some are as children on swings pumping higher and higher. Don’t call them back, don’t call them in for supper. See, they leave scuff marks like jet…

I need her to fly home, safely. Please. Thank you. – Posted from my iPhone

If you have an Intel processor Mac, are running Snow Leopard 10.6, and use the mac download utility Speed Download (version 4) be sure to switch Safari 4 to 32 bit mode. (To do this get info on safari and click the 32 bit checkbox) Because Snow Leopard and newer intel Macintosh computers are 64 bit, the plugin for speed download will hang on DMG file downloads. Thanks to a CNET poster, a half hour of my time and google for this fix. 🙂 – Posted from my iPhone

– Posted from my iPhone

In the chest in the heart was a vessel was the pulse was the art was the love was the clot small and slow and the scar that could not know the rest of you was very nearly perfect – Posted from my iPhone