Tales of Ordinary Madness

 I've never been lonely. 

I've been in a room -- I've felt suicidal. 

I've been depressed. 

I've felt awful -- awful beyond all -- 

but I never felt that one other person 

could enter that room and cure what was bothering me...

or that any number of people could enter that room. 

In other words, 

 loneliness is something I've never been bothered with 

because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. 

It's being at a party, or at a stadium 

full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. 

I'll quote Ibsen, 

"The strongest men are the most alone." 

I've never thought,

 "Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here 

and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, 

and I'll feel good.

" No, that won't help. You know the typical crowd, 

"Wow, it's Friday night, what are you going to do? 

Just sit there?

" Well, yeah. Because there's nothing out there. 

It's stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. 

Let them stupidify themselves. 

I've never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. 

I hid in bars, because I didn't want to hide in factories. 

That's all. 

Sorry for all the millions, 

but I've never been lonely. 

I like myself. I'm the best form of entertainment I have. 

Let's drink more wine! 

 
― Charles Bukowski

 

A Wild Swan: And Other Tales

  “Yeah, right, sweetheart, it’s a wing, I’m part angel, but trust me, the rest is pure devil.”

 
― Michael Cunningham, A Wild Swan: And Other Tales

A flock of swans was housed in a bay of the Black Sea, Eforie Sud (Romania ). They quickly found admirers: locals who come to feed them and take pictures with them.

The Crunch - Love is a Dog From Hell

 The Crunch by Charles Bukowski 

photography: daliana pacuraru 

poetry: charles bukowski 

music: sonora -quincas moreira 

film by daliana pacuraru 

graphis advertising©2021

 

The Crunch by Charles Bukowski ( fragments)

 

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody.

laughter or
tears

haters
lovers

strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks

armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking
virgins.

an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.

it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.

but sometimes I think about
it.

the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody

more haters than lovers.

people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.

meanwhile I look at young girls
stems
flowers of chance.

there must be a way.

surely there must be a way that we have not yet
though of.

who put this brain inside of me?

it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.

it will not say
"no."

 

This poem was published in "Love is a Dog From Hell". © by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

Wasted Sunsets (Perfect Strangers)

 “A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon 

and then dripped over and was gone, 

and the sky was brilliant over the spot where it had gone, 

and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, 

hung over the spot of its going. 

And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, 

and darkness crept over the land from the east.”

 
― John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

 

  

#dark, #destiny-quotes, #dreams, #earth, #life, 

#life-journey, #light, #moon, #poetry, #sun, #sunrise, #sunset

Key of Knowledge

“It was a mistake to think of houses, old houses, as being empty. 

They were filled with memories, with the faded echoes of voices. 

Drops of tears, drops of blood, the ring of laughter, the edge of tempers that had ebbed and

 flowed between the walls, into the walls, over the years

Wasn't it, after all, a kind of life?

And there were houses, he knew it, that breathed.

 They carried in their wood and stone, their brick and mortar a kind of ego that was nearly, 

 very nearly, human.” 

― Nora Roberts, Key of Knowledge

 

  death, ego, houses, human, life, old-houses, spirit, years

 

 

ArtHalle One Summer Show

 

'Bucharest weather may be unpredictable, 

but you can always rely on ArtHalle to bring the heat with our One Summer Show. 

From 08th August at our 10 Budisteanu Gallery 

we will be exhibiting artworks by a range of ArtHalle artists,

 all of which were previously displayed at exhibitions during the year.
Throughout the duration of the show, 

as we sell the artworks we will replenish the show with yet more wonderful artworks, 

so be sure to keep visiting the gallery

 to get some ArtHalle beauties on your wall this summer!'

Dan St. Andrei

photo : Daliana Pacuraru