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friday’s post of cool stuff #27

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<< And they are this hot.

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Welcome to the place where mad motorbikes and pornographic poetry collide, Ron Mason, sharkscott, and Bjorn.

starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carriages, the black driver, and in
back the man and the woman,
usually young and always white.
and I was always white.
and hardly charmed by the
New Orleans was a place to
I could **** away my life,
except for the rats.
the rats in my dark small room
very much resented sharing it
with me.
they were large and fearless
and stared at me with eyes
that spoke
an unblinking

women were beyond me.
they saw something
there was one waitress
a little older than
I, she rather smiled,
lingered when she
brought my

that was plenty for
me, that was

there was something about
that city, though
it didn’t let me feel guilty
that I had no feeling for the
things so many others
it let me alone.

sitting up in my bed
the llights out,
hearing the outside
lifting my cheap
bottle of wine,
letting the warmth of
the grape
as I heard the rats
moving about the
I preferred them

being lost,
being crazy maybe
is not so bad
if you can be
that way

New Orleans gave me
nobody ever called
my name.

no telephone,
no car,
no job,

me and the
and my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the
it was a
of something not to
but only

– Charles Bukowski

The photo above is a 1930 Henderson that was customized before World War Two by a dude named O. Ray Courtney, who created the Art Deco style streamliner bodywork.

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