An 11 year-old boy tries heroin on rooftop. The Bronx, New York.
Photo circa 1977.me
this is probably my favorite photo on tumblr
agreed^
Reblogged from I'm opening a church to sell coke and Led Zeppelin
Untitled
This is a tumblelog, kinda like a blog but with short-form, mixed-media posts with stuff I like. Scroll down a bit to start reading, or a bit more to read more about me.
Red Snapper - Images of You
You’ve taken from me
To satisfy your greed
I’ve been too sunk, too light for your touch
Now your at the core
And its too hard for your grasp
Too solid for your scheme
Watch me, step out of your shadow
Full in the sun once more
Look at my face
The glare is too strong
Reflecting your disrespect
Now your seeing me
Reblogged from This is where it starts. This is where it will end
Reblogged from Dedicated to Henry Charles Bukowski
“
Being with Katherine felt strange. Human relationships were strange. I mean, you were with one person a while, eating and sleeping and living with them, loving them, talking to them, going places together, and then it stopped. Then there was a short period when you weren’t with anybody, then another woman arrived, and you ate with her and fucked her, and it all seemed so normal, as if you had been waiting just for her and she had been waiting for you. I never felt right being alone; sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.
— Women, Charles Bukowski (via w00kieec00kies)
Reblogged from Dedicated to Henry Charles Bukowski
“
Three a.m. drunks, all over America, were staring at the walls, having finally given it up. You didn’t have to be a drunk to get hurt; but you could get hurt and become a drunk.
Thursday night, you became the drunk, you were out there alone in a cheap rented room, and no matter how many times you’d been out there before, it was no help, it was even worse because you had got to thinking you wouldn’t have to face it again. All you could do was light another cigarette, pour another drink, check the peeling walls for lips and eyes.
What men and women did to each other was beyond comprehension.
Thursday night, you became the drunk, you were out there alone in a cheap rented room, and no matter how many times you’d been out there before, it was no help, it was even worse because you had got to thinking you wouldn’t have to face it again. All you could do was light another cigarette, pour another drink, check the peeling walls for lips and eyes.
What men and women did to each other was beyond comprehension.
— “Long Distance Drunk” from Hot Water Music, by Charles Bukowski. (via janx-spirit)
Reblogged from Dedicated to Henry Charles Bukowski
sympheria: Postscriptum
Как жаль, что тем, чем стало для меня
Твое существование, не стало
Мое существованье для тебя.
…В который раз на старом пустыре
я запускаю в проволочный космос
свой медный грош, увенчанный гербом,
в отчаянной попытке возвеличить
момент соединения… Увы,
тому, кто не способен…
Reblogged from sympheria
“
Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.
— Ernest Hemingway (via ikilledjackjohnson)
Reblogged from ikilledjackjohnson
“
well
you know the old saying: it’s all a matter of
taste
and
either they’re right and I’m wrong or I’m right and they’re all
wrong
or
maybe it’s some place in between.
most of the people in the world could care less
and
I often feel the same
way.
you know the old saying: it’s all a matter of
taste
and
either they’re right and I’m wrong or I’m right and they’re all
wrong
or
maybe it’s some place in between.
most of the people in the world could care less
and
I often feel the same
way.
— Charles Bukowski (via levindis)
Reblogged from Dedicated to Henry Charles Bukowski
Caribou- Jamelia
Reblogged from you used to be alright
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