#charles bukowski #quote
/ the ache / toská: No single word in English renders all the shades of toská. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, lovesickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom, skuka. The adjective tosklivïy is translatable as "dismal," "dreary."
There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too tough for him. I say, stay in there, I’m not going to let anybody see you. There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke, and the whores, and the bartenders, and the grocery clerks never know that he’s in there. There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too tough for him. I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? You want to screw up the works? You want to blow my book sales in Europe? There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too clever. I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody’s asleep. I say, I know that you’re there, so don’t be sad. Then I put him back, but he’s singing a little in there. I haven’t quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it’s nice enough to make a man weep, but I don’t weep, do you?
@1 year agoThere’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too tough for him. I say, stay in there, I’m not going to let anybody see you. There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke, and the whores, and the bartenders, and the grocery clerks never know that he’s in there. There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too tough for him. I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? You want to screw up the works? You want to blow my book sales in Europe? There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I’m too clever. I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody’s asleep. I say, I know that you’re there, so don’t be sad. Then I put him back, but he’s singing a little in there. I haven’t quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it’s nice enough to make a man weep, but I don’t weep, do you?
