This Thing is Charles Bukowski

Acrylics on a giant piece of wood + scraps from some of my favorite poems by him

Of course, there were a lot of good people sleeping in the streets. They weren’t fools, they just didn’t fit into the needed machinery of the moment.

Pulp, Charles Bukowski, 1994

Nothing better than Charles Bukowski to help get you through some years of angst and inner turmoil.

Since this blog has absolutely zero shame, I present an excerpt from the angsty diary of 14 year old me, who copied down loads of his poems because hey someone else’s brain sucked, too, and it felt good to make his words come out of my hands. And ya know, at that age NO ONE COULD POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND ME AND MY FEELINGS, MAN.

14-year-old-Rachel and anyone reading this who might struggling, it gets better. Make your art and listen to your music and talk to humans you love. And please give me a shout if you need someone to talk to – I’m here.

http://racheladmas.com

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