tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88451032008-04-25T22:16:06.120-04:00Bill Chinaskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351117724945136661noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845103.post-46058715768250842692008-04-25T22:13:00.001-04:002008-04-25T22:15:34.644-04:00<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/24501787@N02/2394501204/" title="bukowskisign by artspackle, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3020/2394501204_d7228c68dc_o.jpg" width="239" height="300" alt="bukowskisign" /></a><br /><br />"Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you're allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It's like killing yourself, and then you're reborn. I guess I've lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now."<br />—Interview, <em>London Magazine</em>, December 1974-January 1975Bill Chinaskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351117724945136661noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845103.post-50818582189459281012008-04-25T10:51:00.001-04:002008-04-25T22:16:06.152-04:00<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/21712267@N08/2177097314/" title="charlesbukowski by altreel2008, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2306/2177097314_2acb72a17d_o.jpg" width="274" height="400" alt="charlesbukowski" /></a><br /><br />“There was nothing really as glorious as a good beer shit—I mean after drinking twenty or twenty-five beers the night before. The odor of a beer shit like that spread all around and stayed for a good hour-and-a-half. It made you realize that you were really alive.”<br />—Charles Bukowski, <a href="http://www.alternativereel.com/includes/cult-fiction/display_review.php?id=00019">Ham on Rye</a>, 1982Bill Chinaskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00351117724945136661noreply@blogger.com