by Charles Bukowski There’s something almost inexplicable about Bukowski’s writing that hits you when you read it. It’s probably something to do with how natural his prose is, but I think there’s more to it than that. Bukowski knew things, man. He did things that I’d probably work hard to excise from my own writing,…
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by Charles Bukowski At the time of writing this, I just finished getting through a stack of poetry in preparation for an author panel event I was tasked at moderating, and, aside from perhaps Ezra Pound’s Cathay, this was likely my favourite collection. The trouble is I’m having some difficulty getting at the why of…
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by Charles Bukowski In Pulp, we join Nick Belane, private eye “extraordinaire”––the best dick in L.A., by his own account––as he attempts to solve several cases, which quite often entails sitting there, drinking, and musing on how he should be solving cases. He meets Lady Death, who wants him to investigate a man who looks…
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