Bukowski Post Office Quotes

I wanted the whole world or nothing.

In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.

I wasn't much of a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing.

It began as a mistake.

But now and then, a woman walks up, full blossom, a woman just bursting out of her dress…a sex creature, a curse, the end of it all.

Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly – all else is desperation.

In the morning it was morning and I was still alive. Maybe I'll write a novel, I thought. And then I did.

Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job; it takes a wise man to make it without working.

After dinner or lunch or whatever it was -- with my crazy 12-hour night I was no longer sure what was what -- I said, "Look, baby, I'm sorry, but don't you realize that this job is driving me crazy? Look, let's give it up. Let's just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little. Let's go to the zoo. Let's look at animals. Let's drive down and look at the ocean. It's only 45 minutes. Let's play games in the arcades. Let's go to the races, the Art Museum, the boxing matches. Let's have friends. Let's laugh. This kind of life like everybody else's kind of life: it's killing us.

Fay had a spot of blood on the left side of her mouth and I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.

The blankets had fallen off and I stared down at her white back, the shoulder blades sticking out as if they wanted to grow into wings, poke through that skin. Little blades. She was helpless.

It was sad, it was sad, it was sad. When Betty came back we didn't sing or laugh, or even argue. We sat drinking in the dark, smoking cigarettes, and when we went to sleep, I didn't put my feet on her body or she on mine like we used to. We slept without touching. We had both been robbed.

Let' em learn or let' em die

She seemed a bit crazy but I kept looking at her body and I didn't care.

What's wrong with assholes, baby?

Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH ASSHOLES, BABY? YOU'VE GOT AN ASSHOLE, I'VE GOT AN ASSHOLE! YOU GO TO THE STORE AND BUY A PORTERHOUSE STEAK, THAT HAD AN ASSHOLE! ASSHOLES COVER THE EARTH! IN A WAY TREES HAVE ASSHOLES BUT YOU CAN'T FIND THEM, THEY JUST DROP THEIR LEAVES. YOUR ASSHOLE, MY ASSHOLE, THE WORLD IS FULL OF BILLIONS OF ASSHOLES. THE PRESIDENT HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE CARWASH BOY HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE JUDGE AND THE MURDERER HAVE ASSHOLES . . . EVEN THE PURPLE STICKINPIN HAS AN ASSHOLE!

I met Betty on the street. "I saw you with that bitch a while back. She's not your kind of woman." "None of them are.

I went home each night dizzy and sick. He was murdering me with the sound of his voice.

I went to the bathroom and threw some water on my face, combed my hair. If I could only comb that face, I thought, but I can't.

Courage comes from the belly - all else is desperation.

I broke that town in half like a wooden match.

We’re forced into absurd lives, against which the only sane response is to wage a guerrilla operation of humour and lust and madness.

The first place smelled like work, so I took the second.

The ocean," I said, "look at it out there, battering, crawling up and down. And underneath all that, the fish, the poor fish fighting each other, eating each other. We're like those fish, only we're up here. One bad move and you're finished. It's nice to be a champion. It's nice to know your moves.

Let’s just lay around and make love and take walks and talk a little.

MAILMAN CAUGHT DRINKING THE BLOOD OF GOD AND TAKING A SHOWER, NAKED, IN ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH.

God damn the geraniums! ...It was like trying to screw during an aerial attack.

There was something about funerals. It made you see things better.

Lady, how the hell do I know who you are or I am or anybody is?

Maybe she hadn’t saved the world but she had made a major improvement.

Some men are crazy," I said, moving toward the door. "What do wou mean?" "I mean, some men are in love with their wives.

Most of these men’s lives were so tortured that I enjoyed reading about them, thinking, well, I am in hell too and I can’t even write music.

God or somebody keeps creating women and tossing them out on the streets, and this one’s ass is too big and that one’s tits are too small, and this one is mad and that one is crazy and that one is a religionist and that one reads tea leaves and this one can’t control her farts, and that one has this big nose, and that one has boney legs … But now and then, a woman walks up, full blossom, a woman just bursting out of her dress … a sex creature, a curse, the end of it all.

the first place smelled like work, so I took the second

I could stay here, I thought, make money at the track while she nurses me over the bad moments, rubs oil on my body, cooks for me, talks to me, goes to bed with me. Of course, there would always be arguments. That is the nature of a woman. They like the mutual exchange of dirty laundry, a bit of screaming, a bit of dramatics. Then an exchange of vows.

Look, you're small-town. I've had over 50 jobs, maybe a hundred. I've never stayed anywhere long. What I am trying to say is, there is a certain game played in offices all over America. The people are bored, they don't know what to do, so they play the office-romance game. Most of the time it means nothing but the passing of time. Sometimes they do manage to work off a screw or two on the side. But even then, it is just an offhand pasttime, like bowling or t.v. or a New Year's Eve party. You've got to understand that it doesn't mean anything and then you won't get hurt. Do you understand what I mean?" I think that Mr. Partisan is sincere." You're going to get stuck with that pin, babe, don't forget what I told you. Watch those slicks. They are as phony as a lead dime.

Baby, that's grammar school. Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job; it takes a wise man to make it without working. Out here we call it hustling. I'd like to be a good hustler.

There was something about funerals. It made you see things better. A funeral a day and I’d be rich.

Well, as the boys said, you had to work somewhere. So they accepted what there was. This was the wisdom of the slave.

The worst coffee I had ever tasted, but it was hot. I drank three cups and sat there an hour, until I was completely dry.

I went over to see Marina two or three or four times a week. I knew as long as I could see the girl I would be all right…. Soon after, I got a letter from Fay. She and the child were living in a hippie commune in New Mexico. It was a nice place, she said. Marina would be able to breathe there. She enclosed a little drawing the girl had made for me.

I put on some bacon and eggs and celebrated with an extra quart of beer.

Maybe I’ll write a novel, I thought. And then I did.

Don't butter me, Babe.

And underneath all that, the fish, the poor fish fighting each other, eating each other. We’re like those fish, only we’re up here. One bad move and you’re finished.

Parker had a young white boy with him-one of the neurotic tribe of the lost- and the kid's eyes were filled with wet layers of tears. One big tear in each eye. They did not drop out. It was fascinating. I had seen women sit and look at me with those same eyes before they got mad and started screaming about what a son of a bitch I was.

That is the nature of Woman. They like the mutual exchange of dirty laundry, a bit of screaming, a bit of dramatics. Then an exchange of vows.

I had a cigar in my mouth and whiskey on my breath. I felt like money. I looked like money.

I'm quitting." "Quitting?" "Yes, you can't blame a man for wanting to better himself.

stood a supervisor, another Stone, and he had this look on his face—they must practice it in front of mirrors, all the supervisors had this look on their faces—they looked at you as if you were a hunk of human shit.

MR. JONSTONE IS A FINE MAN! Don't be silly. He's an obvious sadist, I said.

I pushed up against her warm tail and was asleep in 45 seconds.

Mailman, you got any mail for me?” And you felt like screaming, “Lady, how the hell do I know who you are or I am or anybody is?

Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love

You know there's a lot of you I've loved and it hasn't been entirely your money.

It was a lucky night.

Eleven years. Although each night had been long, the years had gone fast.

On blue jean day everybody in town was supposed to wear blue jeans or get thrown in the lake. I put on my only suit and necktie and slowly, like Billy the Kid, with all eyes on me, I walked slowly through the town, looking in windows, stopping for cigars. I broke that town in half like a wooden match.

A comida faz bem aos nervos e ao espírito. A coragem vem do estômago - tudo o resto é desespero.

When you didn’t know how to do anything that’s what you became—a shipping clerk, receiving clerk, stock boy.

I finally got dressed. I went to the bathroom and threw some water on my face, combed my hair. If I could only comb that face, I thought, but I can’t.

Now let’s each have a good tall drink to celebrate!

I had come to the racetrack after the other two funerals and had won. There was something about funerals. It made you see things better. A funeral a day and I'd be rich.

I wanted the whole world or nothing.     6

The next thing I knew, I had a young girl from Texas on my lap. I won’t go into details of how I met her. Anyway, there it was. She was 23. I was 36.

I had the dictionary at my elbow. Every now and then I would flip a page, find a large incomprehensible word and build a sentence or a paragraph out of the idea.

The post office, or any world of work, is only one institutionalised system of control that is designed to beat people, to condition them into accepting that humiliation and failure is the norm. Those who do not rebel against this lose any ability to think for themselves. The workers are robbed of power whilst the bosses have only a small amount of it and can only use it arbitrarily, which is to say, pointlessly.

Of course, there would always be arguments. That is the nature of Woman. They like the mutual exchange of dirty laundry, a bit of screaming, a bit of dramatics. Then an exchange of vows. I wasn’t very good on the exchange of vows.

The ocean,” I said, “look at it out there, battering, crawling up and down. And underneath all that, the fish, the poor fish fighting each other, eating each other. We’re like those fish, only we’re up here. One bad move and you’re finished.

Old ladies standing in halls, up and down the streets, asking the same question as if they were one person with one voice: “Mailman, you got any mail for me?” And you felt like screaming, “Lady, how the hell do I know who you are or I am or anybody is?

Hank, I can't stand it!" "You can't stand what, baby?" "The situation." "What situation, babe?" "Me working and you laying around. All the neighbors think I am supporting you." "Hell, I worked and you laid around." "That's different. You're a man, I'm a woman." "Oh, I didn't know that. I thought you bitches were always screaming for equal rights?

Por la mañana era de día y yo seguía vivo. Quizás escriba una novela, pensé. Y eso hice.

I was tired and wet and hungover, but I was usually that way and I waded through the weariness like I did the water.

Fay had grey hair and always dressed in black. She said she was protesting the war.

I’m hungry,” she said. “Let me cook!” “I’m hungry too. I’ll eat you!

She pointed at me. I felt important. I had lost so many women to so many other guys that it felt good for the thing to be working the other way around.

I could stay here, I thought, make money at the track while she nurses me over the bad moments, rubs oils on my body, cooks for me, talks to me, goes to bed with me.

The streets were full of insane and dull people. Most of them lived in nice houses and didn’t seem to work, and you wondered how they did it.

Most of these men's lives were so tortured that I enjoyed reading about them, thinking, well, I am in hell too and I can't even write music.

What's the sin in being poor?

BILLS! BILLS! BILLS!' she screamed. 'IS THAT ALL YOU CAN BRING ME? THESE BILLS?' 'Yes, mam, that's all I can bring you.' I turned and walked on. It wasn't my fault that they used telephones and gas and light and bought all their things on credit. Yet when I brought them their bills they screamed at me - as if I had asked them to have a phone installed, or a $350 t.v. set sent over with no money down.

I went into the bends. I got drunker and stayed drunker than a shit skunk in Purgatory. I even had the butcher knife against my throat one night in the kitchen and then I thought, easy, old boy, your little girl might want you to take her to the zoo. Ice cream bars, chimpanzees, tigers, green and red birds, and the sun coming down on top of her head, the sun coming down and crawling into the hairs of your arms, easy, old boy.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH ASSHOLES, BABY? YOU’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE, I’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE! YOU GO TO THE STORE AND BUY A PORTERHOUSE STEAK, THAT HAD AN ASSHOLE! ASSHOLES COVER THE EARTH! IN A WAY TREES HAVE ASSHOLES BUT YOU CAN’T FIND THEM, THEY JUST DROP THEIR LEAVES. YOUR ASSHOLE, MY ASSHOLE, THE WORLD IS FULL OF BILLIONS OF ASSHOLES. THE PRESIDENT HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE CARWASH BOY HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE JUDGE AND THE MURDERER HAVE ASSHOLES … EVEN PURPLE STICKPIN HAS AN ASSHOLE!

Wise son of a bitch, you’re one of those sons of bitches with a vocabulary and you like to lay it around!

Just like some guys can’t taxi or pimp or hustle dope, most guys, and gals too, can’t be postal clerks.

I got into the car and began cruising up and down the streets looking for a For Rent sign. It didn’t seem to be an unusual thing to do.

Nie každý dokáže jazdiť taxíkom, robiť pasáka alebo predávať drogy, a rovnako tak nie každý chlap - alebo ženská - dokáže pracovať ako poštový úradník.

I needed coffee, two coffees, a bite to eat.

Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job; it takes a wise man to make it without working. Out here we call it ‘hustling.’ I’d like to be a good hustler.

you didn't adjust, you simply got more and more tired

Post Office by Charles Bukowski, which made him – who

It was one of the biggest fattest lies of the century. I’ve been looking for that guy for years but I’m afraid somebody else has gotten to him first.

grinning from asshole to eyebrow.

THE WORLD IS FULL OF BILLIONS OF ASSHOLES. THE PRESIDENT HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE CARWASH BOY HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE JUDGE AND THE MURDERER HAVE ASSHOLES … EVEN PURPLE STICKPIN HAS AN ASSHOLE!

I had come a long way from a guy who had worked in slaughterhouses, who had crossed the country with a railroad track gang, who had worked in a dog biscuit factory, who had slept on park benches, who had worked the nickel and dime jobs in a dozen cities across the nation.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH ASSHOLES, BABY? YOU’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE, I’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE! YOU GO TO THE STORE AND BUY A PORTERHOUSE STEAK, THAT HAD AN ASSHOLE! ASSHOLES COVER THE EARTH! IN A WAY TREES HAVE ASSHOLES BUT YOU CAN’T FIND THEM, THEY JUST DROP THEIR LEAVES. YOUR ASSHOLE, MY ASSHOLE, THE WORLD IS FULL OF BILLIONS OF ASSHOLES, THE PRESIDENT HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE CARWASH BOY HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE JUDGE AND THE MURDERER HAVE ASSHOLES . . .  EVEN PURPLE STICKPIN HAS AN ASSHOLE!

Then I met David Janko on the station. He was a young white in his early twenties. I made the mistake of talking to him, something about classical music because it was the only thing I could listen to while drinking beer in bed in the early morning. If you listen morning after morning you are bound to remember things. And when Joyce had divorced me I had mistakenly packed 2 volumes of The Lives of the Classical and Modern Composers into one of my suitcases. Most of these men's lives were so tortured that I enjoyed reading about them, thinking, well, I am in hell too and I can't even write music.

All the books I liked were basically about the same topic. White Niggers by Ingvar Ambjørnsen, Beatles and Lead by Lars Saabye Christensen, Jack by Alf Lundell, On the Road by Jack Kerouac, Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby, Jr., Novel with Cocaine by M. Agayev, Colossus by Finn Alnæs, Lasso Round the Moon by Agnar Mykle, The History of Bestiality trilogy by Jens Bjørneboe, Gentlemen by Klas Östergren, Icarus by Axel Jensen, The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger, Humlehjertene by Ola Bauer and Post Office by Charles Bukowski. Books about young men who struggled to fit into society, who wanted more from life than routines, more from life than a family, in short, young men who hated middle-class values and sought freedom. They travelled, they got drunk, they read and they dreamed about their life's Great Passion or writing the Great Novel. Everything they wanted I wanted too.

YOUR ASSHOLE, MY ASSHOLE, THE WORLD IS FULL OF BILLIONS OF ASSHOLES. THE PRESIDENT HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE CARWASH BOY HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE JUDGE AND THE MURDERER HAVE ASSHOLES