#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
3 small boys run toward me blowing whistles and they scream you’re under arrest! you’re drunk!
I met an old drunk on the street one afternoon. I used to know him from the days with Betty when we made the rounds of the bars. He told me that he was now a postal clerk and that there...
the girls were young and worked the streets but often couldn’t score, they
big black beard tells me that I don’t feel terror I look at him
It was another Sunday that we got into the Model-T in search of my Uncle John. “He has no ambition,” said my father. “I don’t see how he can hold his god-damned head up and look people ...
the lady has me temporarily off th… and now the pecker stands up better. however, things change overnight— instead of listening to Shostakovi…
I got up for a glass of water and as I walked into the kitchen I saw Picasso walk up to Joyce and lick her ankle. I was barefooted and she didn’t hear me. She had on high heels. She loo...
It was 12 hours a night, plus supervisors, plus clerks, plus the fact that you could hardly breathe in that pack of flesh, plus stale baked food in the “non-profit” cafeteria. Plus the ...
I still get letters in the mail, m… men in tiny rooms with factory job… living with whores or no woman at… booze and madness. Most of their letters are on lined…
he used to sell papers in front: Get your winners! Get rich on a d… and about the 3rd or 4th race you’d see him rolling in on his ro… with roller skates underneath.
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
the essence of the belly like a white balloon sacked is disturbing like the running of feet on the stairs
sun-stroked women without men on a Santa Monica Monday; the men are working or in jail or insane;
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes de cades to realize this and most often
you know what Li Po said when ask… Artist or Rich? I’d rather be Rich,” he replied,… sitting on the doorsteps of the Rich.”