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Charles Bukowski Femei Pdf

Femei. Home · Femei Author: Bukowski Charles. 6 downloads 54 Views KB Size Report. DOWNLOAD EPUB. 0 Comments. Sort by. Oldest. Facebook. intr_on f.t,uu altul. iar deja drumul meu, sint femei - cdn4bris - charles cursing pdf full ebook by eliana donovan - charles bukowski - wikipedia ha scritto . hollywood (pdf) by charles bukowski (ebook) - hollywood (pdf) by charles a tomar cantidades enormes de alcohol. pero esta charles bukowski femei.

Ferrel cell pdf Lecture. In the Ferrel cell, air flows poleward and eastward near the surface and equatorward and westward at higher altitudes; this movement is the reverse of the airflow in the Hadley cell. The Ferrel cell, theorized by William Ferrel , is, therefore, a secondary circulation feature, whose existence depends upon the Hadley and polar cells on either side of it. A Ferrel Cell is a circulation pattern named for William Ferrel , an American meteorologist who discovered the effects of the Earths motion in wind systems. The results from this study demonstrate that variability of the Ferrel cell leads that of the NAM by about 12 days. It behaves much as an atmospheric ball bearing between the Hadley cell and the Polar cell, and comes about as a result of the eddy circulations the high and low pressure areas of the midlatitudes. Thermally Direct Cells Hadley and Polar Cells Both cells have their rising branches over warm temperature zones and sinking braches over the cold temperature zone. Both cells directly convert thermal energy to kinetic energy. Thermally Indirect Cell Ferrel Cell This cell rises over cold temperature zone and sinks over warm temperature zone.

On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. I wanted to love it, but dare I say: I was underwhelmed. I had this recurring notion that Bukowski was just trying so hard to look as though he was not trying so hard. It seems as though he wanted to give the impression that he couldn't care less about other writers, films, TV, culture, none of it really, and that he wasn't bothered by what people thought about his writing.

On the other hand, there are all these self-compliments his characters chip in that disprove his indifference. This book, albeit playful, could be helpful for a case-study on polygamy. It is also acute in conveying the harsh economic realities that the Americans of that generation had been going through.

Additionally, it could assist women of all generations to understand the true composition of jerks, assholes and dirty old men, and know when to run for their lives if they are in a relationship with one. Was I disappointed with this book? Unfortunately, yes. Would I read more Bukowski? The man is shameless and unbothered by it, but he sticks to his guns and has his own style. Give me another book by him, right now, and yes, yes I will. Yeah you got me.

The emotions he shows are true to his own feelings. His opinions on world surrounding him are derived from his personal convictions and not from the currency of literary fashion, which there are examples aplenty in this book on his distaste for literary fashion or educated kind of writers and their writings.

But the thing that differentiates Bukowski from confessionals is that he talks through a personae Henry Chanski to convey his feelings, thoughts, worldviews, and experiences. But somehow all of us know there is much of Bukowski in that Chinaski guy that we are allowed to see them as one. Like confessionals, Bukowski mythologizes his personal life, but let's not forget that it also has elements of fancy.

He wrote about anything he liked and his subject matters were most often himself and the things he intimately knew.

His writings at least in case of Women are a declaration of loss, of dependence, of guilt, of anguish, suffering, and his revenge on life. The themes of this declaration are presented in the form of mental breakdowns, personal failure, alienation, whoring, experiments with drugs, alcoholism, and so on.

As Bukowski confesses why he was behaving all through his postyear-old life as someone debauched, as someone who is beating the hell out of life to give him back what he has lost all his 50 years of miserable life: I had imagined myself special because I had come out of the factories at the age of 50 and become a poet. Hot shit. So I pissed on everybody just like those bosses and managers had pissed on me when I was helpless. It came to the same thing.

I was a drunken spoiled rotten fucker with a very minor minor fame. So some pseudonyms in Women: Lydia Vance: Drop On Inn: Dew Drop Inn Drayer Baba: Maher Baba - indian guru Dinky Summers: Pamela Miller "Cupcakes" - lover of Buk's Arlene: Neeli Cherkowski - friend of Buk's Tanya: Amber O'Neill also a pseudonym! Joanna Bull - fan of Buk's William Keesing: Ted Laturnus - organizer of Buk's reading in Vancouver View all 16 comments.

Reading "Women" is like watching a porno. At first, all that wanton sex is exciting and seductive and yeah, kind of funny too; then it starts to get repetitive and a little disturbing; pretty soon you're disgusted with all of it: You promise that you'll never watch again but, deep down, you know you will.

You dirty bastard. Aug 20, RandomAnthony rated it really liked it. I feel stupid getting into Charles Bukowski so much as a 43 year old guy with kids, a house, and a job. I mean, I read him in my late teens with all my friends and we romanticized his shitty SRO hotel existence. But over the last year I've either read or re-read all of his non-poetry books except Pulp , and I can see a depth and craft of which I wasn't aware as a kid.

Women , turns out, is my favorite of the catalog. I don't get much voyeuristic pleasure from Women. You know how recently-divorced I feel stupid getting into Charles Bukowski so much as a 43 year old guy with kids, a house, and a job. Well, Bukowski's twilight years, according to Women , function like The Bachelor except sometimes he can't get it up and just about all the women he meets are sad and bonkers.

He tries to go along with a few of his companions' everyday lifestyle Bukowski antique shopping I can't imagine but feels trapped and suffocated. So he moves on to the next girl who's been sending him letters and dirty photographs. Literary success has its drawbacks but Bukowski's not dumb enough to pretend that nailing fans and waking at noon is harder than working a shit job. He's scared, amused, almost waiting for the other shoe to drop, if you will, like he's lost his young man's anger, wants to live in peace, but, Jesus, these women keep sending these letters, and Women seems to me the most mature and quotable Bukowski.

He's less caricature and more human than in his other works. He's more removed and reflective. Women is more than a laundry-list fuckfest. Go beyond the surface. Dig deep. Sep 11, David Schaafsma rated it liked it Shelves: I am in general a kind of fan of Bukowski, especially his poetry and early Henry Chinaski novels.

He worked for decades in factories, in the post office, in a variety of odd jobs he "I never pump up my vulgarity. He worked for decades in factories, in the post office, in a variety of odd jobs he talks about in Factotum and Post Office and other books, so when it came to being part of the literary world, Bukowski just found it silly and self-important.

Drunk, vulgar, rude and sometimes very funny. And less funny than the earlier books, but no more insightful, really. All sex and ignorance, a parade of woman after woman for pages. And this is his point, that he knows nothing about women!

Which is sometimes funny, more often than not offensive, and ultimately a bit boring. I was listening to the book or I would have thrown it across the room several times.

Sometimes it is funny, especially when he touches on writing and the writing life, or when he is describing this or that insanity. Chianski's drunk all the way through, hangovers a year, as he admits. Like Crumb, Bukowski seems to have no ethical filters, no lines he is not willing to cross, and this makes him hilarious for many readers, and even, I am ashamed to say, me. He even knows this and keep writing,knowing his loyal fans like me, damn it! He uses some excuses at this point to justify his behavior: Bukowski is more miserable here than in previous books: So why didn't I love Women?

This is how he thinks he can get away with the abuse, but by now I am not quite downloading it as interesting. So why did I like Women at all?

I guess because he does tell the truth, and writes that truth in a still interesting way in places: Bukowksi is also misogynist here, almost exclusively describing women in sexual terms, woman after woman, drink after drink, horse race after horse race. Often repulsive.

Occasionally amusingly decadent. A self-confessed fat, ugly drunk, who sometimes makes me smile. Not in this one so much as the others, though.

Give it a rest! View all 7 comments. Aspetto che mi venga spontanea.

A volte si sentiva bene, ma non sembrava mai giusto Accidenti a lui, dannato ubriacone! Non volevo invecchiare male, volevo semplicemente dare le dimissioni, morire prima dell'arrivo della morte. Jan 22, owilkumowa rated it did not like it Shelves: Bukowski knew shit about women. View all 17 comments. Jan 22, Henry Martin rated it really liked it Shelves: Women is definitely not Bukowski at his finest, nevertheless, the book has its merits.

In this book, we get a slightly different glimpse at Henry Chinaski, Bukowski's alter ego, and once we get past the same scenery in which the only thing that changes are the sets of legs spread before him, we are offered a look into a life of a man who is nearing his top game in term of recognition while being torn inside.

Torn by the insatiable appetite to taste all the fruit forbidden to him for the first Women is definitely not Bukowski at his finest, nevertheless, the book has its merits. Torn by the insatiable appetite to taste all the fruit forbidden to him for the first fifty years of his life, torn by the superficial attempts to fill a void, torn by his inability to attach, to be satisfied.

We get the same gut-level honesty, the same raw emotions and descriptions Bukowski does so well; the same seedy neighborhoods and their protagonists; the same booze-fueled nights and sleepy days that pass in a haze. But we also get more. We get a vulnerable human being that on one hand desires to be good while on the other hand acts like a jerk. Can he help himself? Perhaps, yet he has no desire to. Some reviewers mention redemption at the end of the book. I did not see it that way.

Hank became softer, yes, he did. But entering a relationship that would clearly not work in the long run is certainly not redemption.

I view it more like a momentary break, a pause on his path towards self-destruction that marred Bukowski's real life. For the most part, this book deals with sexual encounters of a random order, some lasting, some not. But are the short-lived ones an attempt to "crawl back to the womb", an attempt to find comfort and affection not allowed to him for the past five decades?

Are the lasting encounters an attempt to find a woman crazier than he is, a woman more self-destructive than he is? Are those an attempt to reassure himself that there is nothing wrong with his own ways?

I loved Bukowski's own revelations and reflections in Hollywood. There was more to it than the book suggested. In Women, there is also more, but he has not yet reached a state of self-discovery, of self-observation. He is a kid in the candy store, except he is not a kid and the candy are the various women sleeping with him due to his recently acquired rock-star status.

Does he suffer inside? Sure, but he does not see it that way, not yet. He, nevertheless, feels a void, he just didn't name it yet, and all the candy he get is not going to fill it. To me, Women is a story of a man at the threshold of discovering himself. His path and method are rugged, his encounters utterly meaningless, but with each new woman that spends a night in his old, crappy bed, he inches closer to finding the lack of meaning in it all, closer to feeling something.

And for this, Women makes for a good human story. It's not Factotum, Post Office, or Pulp View all 10 comments. I really didn't know how to take this book and I'm not sure that I have it figured out yet. I knew little about Bukowski going into this one but it didn't take very long to figure out that the antihero Hank Chinaski is actually the alter ego of Bukowski. Both aging writers, German birth, -ski surname, etc, etc.

The story seemed pointless at first, very sexual in nature; grittily,needlessly specific sexual content that couldn't even claim to be erotic in nature. Chinaski has carnal relations with I really didn't know how to take this book and I'm not sure that I have it figured out yet. Chinaski has carnal relations with so many different women that he can't remember their names.

Unfortunately, the reader is just as confused. So I kept asking myself: The female characters who climb into bed with Chinaski don't get fleshed out; they form a long line of usually willing bed partners for Chinaski who regards them as little more than sperm receptacles.

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Does this story mirror Bukowski's actual sex life? Do women actually have so little self-respect as to allow themselves to be used in this manner by a coarse and brash man who obviously has no respect for them, possibly even hates them? But in the last half of the book, Bukowski starts to put everything together.

Chinaski undergoes a period of self-analysis in which he questions why he is such a philandering prick and speculates on the origins of his need to be embraced by the female half of humanity.

He even takes baby steps at improvement, giving the reader hope that, against the odds, he may eventually settle into a mutually fulfilling relationship with someone.

In the end, I realize that although the book may have engaged me in a negative way, it still engaged me. Make me happy or rattle my cage, but don't bore me! This one kept me reading: View 1 comment. May 23, Michael rated it it was amazing Shelves: There it is, my one word review of Women.

As I'm reading the book, hating it more and more, I'm wondering how I can ever review it. I'm not too fond of reviewing books anyway, but I didn't know how I could even share my thoughts on it. I decided I'd just do an alphabetical word review, starting with "atrocious" and ending with "zany" with each word a representation of what I hated about the book. Way too much work. So why didn't I like Women? I was turned off by what I perceived as Buk Repulsive.

I was turned off by what I perceived as Bukowski's misogyny and his lack of humanity. I didn't enjoy that the story read like a broken record, I was unhappy with the bleakness of love, I was bored listening to a loudmouthed drunk telling me exaggerated stories of his past and his love life.

So why do I rate a book I disliked so highly? Because when I finished I realized that no one, at least no one I know, writes with this much truth and this much passion and this much honesty. No one I know has the guts to rip himself open and throw himself on the table for pedantic lubbers like me to criticize.

And I also realized that Charles Bukowski is the only writer I've ever read who can make me laugh out loud. Sometimes not for the right reason. Women is raw and offensive and insulting and repulsive but it's thoroughly honest, disturbingly brutal and undeniably real. Jun 13, Po Po rated it really liked it. I'll sum it up for you. Drink, fuck, drink, horse race, drink, driiiiiiiink, write, drink, drink, watch a boxing match, give a reading, drink, fuck, drink, fuck, fuck, sleep, drink, write, drink, drink, fuck, drink, fuck, give a reading, drink, fuck, drink, fuuuuuuuck, drink, drink, fuck, fuck, drink, fuck.

These are the names of the ladies in his life: There are others; I missed a few. There is some I'll sum it up for you. There is some remarkable insight hidden within these pages. What I liked most is the crude honesty and the brutal humanity. Bukowski's passion is exhilarating. I enjoyed this novel.

Though it's thick, I found it an easy read, the type of book that I could dip into at any time. The structure of this novel is odd or unconventional in that at first it seems repetitive, this happens then that, with women entering and leaving his life.

But somehow you grow used to it. It's almost like a compilation of episodes that often don't lead anywhere but allow you to understand the protagonist who's obviously Bukowski. I'll say it's pretty funny too. Bukowski's sense I enjoyed this novel. Bukowski's sense of humor is blunt and often dirty, which I kind of appreciate. Both books have a raw and ugly style, both quite funny. Bukowski's Women ends with Henry, the main character losing control a little. The portrait is deadly honest, and I know a lot of people who might consider him an A-hole, but that's exactly why he's interesting: Bukowski does nothing to cover up the fact that he's a bit of a monster.

So the end result is a realistic portrait. Anyway, I enjoyed this book, and I would recommend it to others. Mar 23, Shauna rated it did not like it Shelves: Okay, Wikipedia really mislead me on this one and it should be ashamed of itself. I got this from a friend and read it at an age when guess I could have liked it - I didn't like it that is, that's what a GoodReads one star is - Didn't like it.

Everything that positive reviews list as reasons to like this book are the same ones that makes it utterly uninteresting to me.

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Never got it, had it been today there's no way I would have finished this. But I learned from the experience and won't ever pick up anything else by him.

Jun 07, Tia rated it it was amazing Shelves: My God, this book is perfect. I finished it a day ago, so I've had time to digest it. It's gonna be hard to move onto my next book, my rebound read, because I'm still hung up on this one. I'm in love with it. I can't find a single flaw in it.

This was my first Bukowski book, and I doubt his others will be able to live up to it for me. This would have to be one of my favorite books of all time, right up there with House of Leaves. Basically this is autobiographical fiction about a brief period in My God, this book is perfect. Basically this is autobiographical fiction about a brief period in Bukowski's life. He was divorced, he'd had his heart broken, and he was starting to get mild fame for his writing.

He was actually a romantic deep down, he was looking for a true connection with a woman.

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He hadn't had his pick of women in his past, since he was not a good-looking man and he had an awful childhood. He was insecure around beautiful women. But suddenly he found himself having groupies, in his 50's. He was a broken man and he attracted broken women. His alcoholism meant he ended up with other drunks and addicts, or women who became frustrated with his drinking. Strange as it may seem, I related to this book more than anything I've read before. That's why I like it.

That's why I read. I'm always looking for books that can put my own feelings into words. I don't agree with people saying this book is full of "misogyny. I've yet to find a female author's work that resonated with me half as much. If anything, this book showed how much he truly loved women, even when he was unlucky in love. He seemed to be a sucker for them. He was a bit intimidated by them, especially when sober. He couldn't believe it when beautiful or kind women had an interest in him.

Yet, somehow he always found a way to mess it up. Some women he just didn't have feelings for, and their relationships were amicable. But whenever he fell hard for women, it didn't seem to work out. I don't think that's him being a jerk, that's just how life goes sometimes.

He was always very honest with all of them. Brutally honest. He never cheated or led them on. This book reminded me so much of a year in my life. I was I'd been in three serious long-term relationships. Those were the only men I'd slept with, and all of them broke my heart. So I went a little wild. I drank a lot, and I slept around a lot. Some of the men I got attached to, but they did not want to date me.

Other men fell for me, but I did not feel anything for them. I spent that year drinking and fucking and writing before meeting the man I would marry, and I don't regret it at all, but I'm glad it's over. Bukowski's alter ego, Chinaski, is the perfect antihero. The kind of flawed protagonist I'm always searching for. He's a piece of shit, his life is a mess, but you'll root for him anyways.

You'll want him to find the love he's looking for, and in the end he does. He meets a woman who won't sleep with him for a long time, so they develop a true friendship. She's a good woman, easy to talk to, not willing to put up with his crap. And he really likes her, and she likes him, and in the end he realizes what that's worth. She's based off a woman he married. So I think the book ended rather sweetly.

Also, Bukowski can really write. This book was a joy to read. I couldn't put it down! Here's my problem with memoirs - just because it happened, doesn't mean it's interesting. Bukowski knew the power of fiction. He knew exactly what to keep, what to leave out, and what to fabricate.

So this story is very readable. There was nothing I'd change about it. I loved what Chinaski said about The New Yorker featuring writers that are too educated, and about Hemingway being talented but not knowing how to have fun. Bukowski is like Hemingway in that his prose is sparse - maybe not "clean" since he's such a dirty old man, but it's minimal.

That's what I admire about Hemingway. What I don't like about Hemingway is he was so serious and wrote about very dull things, so his talent was wasted. Women is not a dull book! I think even people who hate it will stick with it. They may be disgusted, but they'll still be entertained. I was hooked within the first few pages. I swear, a few people die and they go and freakin' ban it.

People die from cars and alcohol all the time but they dont go banning those. Whatever, man. I miss you Xenedrine! Call me! But the point is, I could wear a corset back then and look mildly attractive in the right lighting. If you squinted your eyes. I do remember trying that get up on in my hotel room and thinking "Ooooh sexy lady, oh yeah.

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You soooo fine! That was the first and last time I have ever shopped at Victoria's Secret. My friend , Erika, has to remind to me wear bras to this day. I also bought 2 pieces of cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory and brought them back to my hotel and devoured them both So back to the main subject matter here Didn't even read the description, I just immediately bought it.

Lucky for me it was a collections of short stories from awesome writers about the title subjects. And an exerpt of Charles Bukowski's "Women" was one of them. He stood out to me because he writes like he speaks. In plain, no frills english. Some call him misogynistic but I disagree. I never felt like he was exploiting or demeaning women in any of his books. Most of the bitches in his books deserved to be treated like shit.


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