To survive without adding to the horror is sometimes the best we can do. The courage and cunning it takes to live this way makes what little art or decency we have possible. Until the sometimes wistful and poignant poems Bukowski wrote in old age, his central theme, both comically and tragically, involved the battering struggle of the individual writer, worker, lover in a violently exploitative and humanly deranged world. Readers feel permeated by the best of his poems because of the simplicity with which he expresses passion, and paradoxically conveys the butchery done to it, and the butchery endured, by people.
these things that we support most well have nothing to do with up, and we do with them out of boredom or fear or money or cracked intelligence; our circle and our candle of light being small, so small we cannot bear it, we heave out with Idea