#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
Jack London drinking his life awa… writing of strange and heroic men. Eugene O’Neill drinking himself o… while writing his dark and poetic works.
there are beasts in the salt shake… and airdromes in the coffeepot. my mother’s hand is in the bag dra… and from the backs of spoons come the cries of tiny tortured animals…
I used to take the back off the telephone and stuff it with ra… and when somebody knocked I wouldn’t answer and if they pers… I’d tell them in terms vulgar
My drinking slowed down the next week. I went to the racetrack to get fresh air and sunshine and plenty of walking. At night I drank, wondering why I was still alive, how the scheme wor...
drive to the beach at night in the winter and sit and look at the burned-dow… wonder why they just let it sit th… in the water.
The ex-Japanese wrestler who was into real estate sold Lydia’s house. She had to move out. There was Lydia, Tonto, Lisa and the dog, Bugbutt. In Los Angeles most landlords hang out the ...
the boy walks with his muddy feet… soul talking about recitals, virtuosi,… the lesser known novels of Dostoev… talking about how he corrected a w…
the illusion is that you are simpl… reading this poem. the reality is that this is more than a poem.
dying has its rough edge. no escaping now. the warden has his eye on me. his bad eye. I’m doing hard time now.
more wasted days, gored days, evaporated days. more squandered days, days pissed away,
don’t undress my love you might find a mannequin: don’t undress the mannequin you might find my love.
reached up into the top of the clo… and took out a pair of blue pan ti… and showed them to her and asked “are these yours?” and she looked and said,
you may not believe it but there are people who go through life with very little friction or
Frank liked airplanes. He lent me all his pulp magazines about World War 1. The best was Flying Aces. The dog-fights were great, the Spads and the Fokkers mixing it. I read all the stor...
at the window I watch a man with a power mower the sounds of his doing race like flies and bees