And not for want of one.
No one cares about white men who listen to classical music like that’s something impressive.
Charles Bukowski’s destined followers are destined to wallow in anonymity.
I don’t think that’s a bad thing.
I’ve read some Bukowski, and I even found some poems I really like. “Jane’s Shoes,” if I recall correctly, is the title of one.
And, I mean, how can you not be interested in books with titles like “Love is a Dog from Hell” and “What Matters Most Is How You Walk Through the Fire”?
No, there will never be another Bukowski, no matter how white, male, college undergrads try.
Sorry, boys. Better grow a heart and sense of community, or else no woman will have you.