In a world of bullshit phonies, at least someone had the guts to call it like they saw it.
Charles Bukowski - The King of Clubs with his Daily Racing Form and bottle of suds.
What I’ve always loved about Bukowski is at the heart of the hungover rants on death, shit, and woman is an unshakeable and surprising optimism.
The ugly drunk bewildered - bewildered by the endless thirst and passion of his own heart. That he could take in all of that poison and turn it into something more beautiful and complex than gold. Maybe what made us great was something we threw away and rejected because we didn’t understand it and couldn’t fucking sell it. Buying religious trinkets while the enduring roaring heart lay hidden in a landfill.
Part 2 of 4 of my Four Kings of literature series, for Hookers or Cake II kickstarter. If you want some cool postcards or prints with the new book, check it out. - Jade Bos aka Hookers or Cake