Charles Bukowski, "I also like to look at ceilings," from The People Look Like Flowers At Last
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Those faces you see every day on the streets were not created entirely without hope: be kind to them: like you they have not escaped.
Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last
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the cry of the
smothered
heart,
now
remembering
better
times
wild and
wondrous.
now the sad
grim
present
cleaves.
Charles Bukowski, from “The People Look Like Flowers at Last”
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I am a series of small victories and large defeats, and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here.
Charles Bukowski
The People Look Like Flowers at Last
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I wanted to try and find my headcanon of Roach's face because for some reason my brain decided that I couldn't keep writing my fanfic if I didn't know what I wanted him to look like beneath his mask... So obviously the full picture wasn't planned. (Also I went the easy way for the background because I remembered that I wasn't getting paid anyway so why make myself suffer)
I don't know if the design is definitive, but I find him cute. I made him Welsh, because why not. He can bond with Soap over why the fuck do the English exist.
Anyway they're gossiping about someone at the pub like the little shits they are. Also I don't know if it's obvious or not, but Roach has the mask sun-tan line. Ghost does too. Speaking of Ghost, he's on the other side of the table, looking like that :
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you know my dudes, with mean girls the musical being a show i willingly go to the trenches for in defending how much I find it genuinely fun even with the objective acknowledgment of its many many flaws, I am genuinely surprised that people,,,are actually fucking liking the movie adaptation of this show,,,and for me that's great cause now I don't have to go through all out war in defense of this silly flawed show and its talented cast members woo a break!
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Charles Bukowski, "grip the dark," from The People Look Like Flowers At Last
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A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.
Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last
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where is common
laughter?
simple joy?
where did they
go?
Charles Bukowski, from “The People Look Like Flowers at Last”
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