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See Even lied about my intent. I don't need clicks from this small demo, I wrote to thank this forum. But as an offshoot got her to craft post 10,000 ( I suspect these bloodless, fey, disordered posts could only come from a bitter menopausal woman, childless, who long ago hit the wall) Now let...

Who would Bukowski Pee on? A deliberate untruth to steer readers from ideas is not ridiculing but LYING and you are a LIAR. Lying is wrong and dull and shame, shame on you. Bukowski despised liars; he would doubtlessly pee on you, and your nearly 10,000 posts.

Now I caught you lying, liar liar. Indeed, readers will learn of Bukowski's deeply influential Depression experience. Which begs the question:how many other bold faced lies have you authored in nearly 10,000 posts? And why has the definition of "Forum"-an open exchange of ideas-not been...

This is where I first found "The Lady In Red" and I thank this site. That propelled an interest into Bukowski's inspiration derived from growing up and coming of age during the Depression. While Steinbeck is the go-to-writer on the subject, I found Bukowski's observations as keen and profound...

Wow, first time seeing this; no camera, no lights? Bad ass.

Quelle Idée! I've considered expanding the blog. Now if you'd like to be my Brooklyn correspondent and continue your penchant for churning out thousands of posts, you're hired. I can double what you're getting paid here and I can organize a (used) bike for you to scoot around Bed Sty. Can you...

I've never called myself an American, but more to the point, I never have mentioned the homeless. Ever. Now I recall telling Mordechai Richler sitting beside me at Winnie's that I was off to drive around Nova Scotia. He said to me "they're different there." And so you are indeed.

Alluded, not referred. As we are products of both heredity and environment. It's the clothes that make the man. Progeny of the salt of the Earth can awake, put on the bastard outfit and begin the day intent on cynically critiquing the life all around them, dragging us all into their misery. But...

As well I'm glad you're here to share that storied Canadian humour, your Maritime provincial humour at any rate. But understandably not geographically here. It's just every Canuck with an ounce of talent and ambition that is here in Los Angeles.

The Frolic Room, the oldest bar in Hollywood now hosts a Bukowski poetry reading each Monday at 5:20 or so, at 6245 Hollywood Boulevard Los Angeles, CA 90028-5310 (323) 462-5890 Now a certain skeptical bastard with an initialized handle will claim I own a piece of the bar, or stock in...

You've read that menu more comprehensively than the average rub-a-dub stumbling into the dump. You see no one goes there to eat, and no one eats at the King Eddy who doesn't need to. You see the guys in the flops and welfare hotels aren't allowed a hot plate, and many of the habitués aren't...

Fellow's name was Holger Sasum, a painter. He had a note from a publisher but it's not clear if he sealed a deal but he left me a document, about a dozen pieces. If you'd like I can post them here. das loch in einer der hallen der fabrik kommen lichter auf uns zu. auf dem boden zeichnet...

Name is Howie; I'm a journalist and tv producer and hadn't thought much of Bukowski the past two decades, not since college, believing the academics who steered me towards the literary. Then I'm sitting in a cafe in LA and this German cat is writing away and we get to talking and he's...

Brilliant job posting this. Hackford knows how to make a doc. Refreshing change from the indifferent video we are bombarded with; selective focus, tight portraits and wonderful editing. I never heard Bukowski's pronounced hubris captured here.

A Plate Glass Window, from Love is A Dog From Hell comes to mind, "dogs and angels are not very different. I often go to this place to eat about 2:30 in the afternoon because al the people who eat there are particularly addled simply glad to be alive and eating baked beans near a...

Do alter egos dream of fictional sheep? Most engaging thread ever!

Cooked his own damn cuisine Bukowski not only cooked his own damn cuisine, but he was a fine cook, a source tells me. Retired print hack from the SF Chronicle said he visited Bukowski with a photographer to shoot his pic, and Bukowski turned out chicken Sauternes for dinner. Surprised everyone.

Well alright brother, my bad then. Kind of like the first time in prison, don't know the unwritten rules. Now the LA Times ran a dull piece on Musso and Frank the past weekend, and Bukowski's bartender ran the same story he's told time and again of calling him a pimp, but the lazy hack didn't...

Indeed, that's the menu. And you get what you pay for. The boiled eggs keep the old smokes alive, but a college aged kid inspired by the piece went over and like it so much he's eaten through the whole menu, burritos, eggs, avocados. Can't get any drinking in if one is so reckless.

A misconception. Amoeba has a highly functional bike rack, which you may tag up if you're inclined.

Hated on those crap jingles too I can't hear a Christmas jingle without thinking of the poem Bukowski writes of hearing a jingle off the radio in summer "I'd rather play ping pong with a risen Hitler." My sentiments too, though Ameoba records was spinning some cool xmas tunes today, like the...

In Text Indeed, he drank at Musso's-after he got made. Always was high end and today a steak and martini will run you $70. If you come across references in his fiction to Hollywood greasy spoons I'd be interested. Thanks for the San Pedro reference.

Drunks got to eat but Bukowski's work is slim on restaurant citings. He mentions Norms where "some fag hit on me" and Clifton's Cafeteria, but where else would he take in a meal?

He writes often of loving boxing and going to fights in LA. "The worst were at the Legion Stadium" he wrote referring to the long gone American Legion Stadium that now is the site of a Gold's gym. But the ringside bell from Legion Stadium is mounted on the wall of the billiard room in Hollywood...

Why you hating on me? On occasion I write on matters that interest this forum, which I've read and enjoyed for a couple years, but had nothing to offer. Now I broke the story of the tour guide's plan which is more hipster ironic than any ironically bad haircutted hipster drinking ironically bad...