Bukowski. Exposing the raw nerve-end.
Bukowski. Gouging at his own wounds.
Bukowski. So honest you can't read him on all days.
Bukowski. Gouging at his own wounds.
Bukowski. So honest you can't read him on all days.
" You will be alone with the gods and the nights will flame the fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter".
Alberto Manguel. I love you still. All your words.
" Maybe this is why we read... to find words for what we already know"
1 comment:
This is not for my son, as most of you thought. This is dedicated, with much love, to the newest member of my family... Abhijoy Sengupta (kitty), my nephew.
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