Chuka

“sometimes when everything seems at
its worst
when all conspires
and gnaws
and the hours, days, weeks
years
seem wasted –
stretched there upon my bed
in the dark
looking upward at the ceiling
i get what many will consider an
obnoxious thought:
it’s still nice to be
Bukowski.”
― Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense

“Authors who moan with praise for their editors always seem to reek slightly of the Stockholm syndrome.”
― Christopher Hitchens, Blood, Class and Empire: The Enduring Anglo-American Relationship

“Some women need it, not all, -- some, he said,
She was one of them,
A woman in need of a good beating.
In the passageway,
Dark elbows and dark knees
And closed fists and strident words,
And the passing thick aroma
Of a great man whose bloody
Knuckles pummeled a small bride into academic duty,
As all the lights were killed.
The leather belt rent a lash-lash sound,
and offered very small pleasures.”
― Chuka Nestor Emezue

“On Saturday,
In his sleep,
I left a kitchen knife in Hank’s jugular,
Or was it in my sleep?
It went in, stayed in,
Like a twig thru the river sand,
His blood was warm and joyful.
And she watched,
And would with this secret
Find her old age and watery grave.”
― Chuka Nestor Emezue