A delectable snack sandwiched between two slices of testosterone and an influx of pitted skin, Ham on Rye is the finding of one's way in the world, in the rigidity of class, American angst, anger, and ego. It succeeded in alienating women through a sweaty and obtuse first-person male gaze.
About the Creator
Kendra Marya
Campervan living Canadian with a penchant for psychological thrills and cats.
B.A. Communication & Philosophy
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More stories from Kendra Marya and writers in Critique and other communities.
A Strange Mysterious Package, Indeed!
You’re a thirty-three-year-old woman named Breanne, still living in the home you grew up in. Not in a cute hallmark way. But in a way that says, ‘I went to university, and it took me six years to graduate because I couldn’t decide on a major, and now I make $50k working as a graphic designer and can’t afford to live on my own in the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) or pay back my student loans.’
By Kendra Maryaabout a year ago in Fiction
Second Grade
Who out there remembers Second grade? Second grade was the time that I learned about 'cursive handwriting' and really quite enjoyed it. It was like doing art with words. I do remember I was not really one that was good with doing math skills at the time, but I did learn and remember these skills. This was the decade of the 'New Mathematics' that started when I was in First grade in 1970. The teacher also did more science and social studies and health lessons as well. My second-grade teacher was Miss Latimer and she was young and made learning fun.
By Mark Graham3 days ago in Critique
I AM
This is not who I thought I would be. Before my family was captured and forced into slavery, I had aspirations of becoming a wealthy business owner or possibly a scholar and philosopher. Becoming a warrior was the furthest thing from my mind. Unfortunately, our Roman conquerors had other plans.
By Mark Gagnon4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
"two slices of testosterone and an influx of pitted skin" that's a spot on way to sum up that book.He was entertaining in his honesty about how awful he was.
Well done!
This was the first Bukowski I ever read, and I see your point. He never really understood women, I think... ;)