#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
stuck in the rain on the freeway,… these are the lucky ones, these ar… dutifully employed, most with thei… as possible as they try not to thi… this is our new civilization: as m…
screen like a burglar to take your… the snake had crawled the hole, and she said, tell me about yourself.
this is important enough: to get your feelings down, it is better than shaving or cooking beans with garlic. it is the little we can do
Thanks for the good letter. I don’t think it hurts, sometimes, to remember where you came from. You know the places where I came from. Even the people who try to write about that or mak...
Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;
When Jonstone saw me the next 5 a.m. he spun in his swivel and his face and his shirt were the same color. But he said nothing. I didn’t care. I had been up to 2 a.m. drinking and screw...
On Christmas I had Betty over. She baked a turkey and we drank. Betty always liked huge Christmas trees. It must have been 7 feet tall, and 1/2 as wide, covered with lights, bulbs, tins...
I suppose it’s raining in some Sp… while I’m feeling bad like this; I’d like to think so now.
there waas a rock-and-mud slide on the Pacific Coast Highway and… detour and they directed us up int… and traffic was slow and it was ho… we were lost.
you’re a beast, she said your big white belly and those hairy feet. you never cut your nails and you have fat hands
We ran up the long ramp. I was ca… At the escalator Tammie saw the f… “Please,” I said, “we only have f… “I want Dancy to have the money.” “All right.”
swans die in the Spring too and there it floated dead on a Sunday sideways circling in the current
I had agreed to give a reading up north. It was the afternoon before the reading and I was sitting in an apartment at the Holiday Inn drinking beer with Joe Washington, the promoter, an...
maybe I’ll win the Irish Sweepsta… maybe I’ll go nuts maybe Harcourt Brace will call or maybe unemployment insurance or rich lesbian at the top of a hill.
drinking German beer and trying to come up with the immortal poem at 5 p.m. in the afternoon. but, ah, I’ve told the