#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
used to drive those trucks so hard and for so long that my right foot would go dead from pushing down on the accelerator.
a single dog walking alone on a hot sidewalk of summer appears to have the power of ten thousand gods.
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
It was hot that night at the reading, which was to be held at St. Mark’s Church. Tammie and I sat in what was used as the dressing room. Tammie found a full-length mirror leaning agains...
which reminds me I shacked with Jane for 7 years she was a drunk I loved her my parents hated her
the other day I’m out at the track betting Early Bird that’s when you bet at the track before it opens)
After nine or ten hours people began getting sleepy and falling into their cases, catching themselves just in time. We were working the zoned mail. If a letter read zone 28 you stuck it...
in the slow Mexican air I watched… and they cut off his ear, and his… no more terror than a rock. driving back the next day we stopp… and watched the golden red and blu…
these women are supposed to come and see me but they never do. there’s the one with the long scar…
there are these small cliffs above the sea and it is night, late night; I have been unable to sleep, and with my car above me
It was 3 or 4 days before I had to fly to Houston to give a reading. I went to the track, drank at the track, and afterwards I went to a bar on Hollywood Boulevard. I went home at 9 or ...
By the time they called me to dinner I was able to pull up my clothing and walk to the breakfast nook where we ate all our meals except on Sunday. There were two pillows on my chair. I ...
he packaged it up neatly in differ… sending the legs to an aunt in St.… the head to a scoutmaster in Brook… the belly to a cross-eyed butcher… the female organs were sent to a y…
we take what we can see— the engines driving us mad, lovers finally hating; this fish in the market staring upward into our minds;
She wasn’t really a cop, she was a clerk-cop. And she started coming in and telling me about a guy who wore a purple stick pin and was a “real gentleman.” “Well,” I’d ask, “how was old ...