#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
at high noon at a small college near the beach sober the sweat running down my arms a spot of sweat on the table
Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;
Shirley came to town with a broken… and met the Chicano who smoked long slim cigars and they got a place together on Beacon street
I was coming off an affair that ha… frankly, I was sliding down into a… really feeling shitty and low when I lucked into this lady with… covered with a jeweled canopy
I’d tell them to have an unhappy l… affair, hemorrhoids, bad teeth and to drink cheap wine, avoid opera and golf and chess, to keep switching the head of thei…
ah, Merryman, fighter on the docks, killed a man while they were unloa… bananas. mean the man he killed
often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink,
I found a room on Temple Street in the Filipino district. It was $3.50 a week, upstairs on the second floor. I paid the landlady—a middle-aged blond—a week’s rent. The toilet and tub we...
to be writing poetry at the age of… like a schoolboy, surely, I must be crazy; racetracks and booze and arguments with the landlord;
Joyce found a job with the county, the county Police Department, of all things. I was living with a cop! But at least it was during the day, which gave me a little rest from those fondl...
luxury ocean liners crossing the water full of the indolent and rich passing from this place to that
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 ...
cigarettes wetted with beer from the night before you light one gag open the door for air
64 days and nights in that place, chemotherapy, antibiotics, blood running into the catheter. leukemia.
you go for these wenches, she said… you go for these whores, I’ll bore you. I don’t want to be shit on anymore… I said,