The Russians knew something

I took my bottle and went to bed. Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health fodds, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegeterianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Bach, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.
I took my choice. I raised the fifth of vodka and drank it straight. The Russians knew something.

Charles Bukowski

Women

The Problem with Drinking

That's the problem with drinking, I thought as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.

Charles Bukowski

Women

Treating sex as a toy

I was trapped in the mountains and woods with two crazy women. They took all the joy out of fucking by talking about it all the time. I liked to fuck too, but it wasn't my religion. There were too many ridiculous and tragic things about it. People didn't seem to know how to handle it. So they made a toy out of it. A toy that destroyed people.

Charles Bukowski

Women

Cunts are indestructible

Then this blonde, about 19, with rimless glasses and a smile walked up. The smile never left. "I want to fuck you," she said, "It's your face."
"What about my face?"
"It's magnificent. I want to destroy your face with my cunt."
"It might be the other way round."
"Don't bet on it."
"You 're right. Cunt is indestructible."

Charles Bukowski

Women

Southern Hospitality

Pete walked up. He looked around the room at the women.
"Which one do you want?" he asked.
"Is it that easy?"
"It's just southern hospitality."

Charles Bukowski

Women

Society

There was death in that place on the hill. I knew it the first day I walked out the screen door and into the backyard. A zinging, binging buzzing whining sound came right at me: 10,000 flies rose straight up into the air at once. All the backyards had these flies-there was this tall green grass and they nested in it, they loved it.

Oh Jesus Christ, I thought, and not a spider within 5 miles!

As I stood there, the 10,000 flies began to come down out of the sky, setting down in the grass, along the fence, the ground, in my hair, on my arms, everywhere. One of the bolder ones bit me.

I cursed, ran out and bought the biggest fly sprayer you ever saw. I fought them for hours, raging we were, the flies and I, and hours later, coughing and sick from breathing the fly killer, I looked around and there were as many flies as ever. I think for each one I killed they got down in the grass and bred two. I gave it up.

Charles Bukowski
The Post Office II, 6