#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
he came to the door one night wet… terrorized white cross-eyed tailless cat took him in and fed him and he sta… grew to trust me until a friend dr…
Then Joyce wanted to go back to the city. For all the draw– backs, that little town, haircuts or not, beat city life. It was quiet. We had our own house. Joyce fed me well.) Plenty of m...
in the winter walking on my ceiling my eyes the size of street… I have 4 feet like a mouse but wash my own underwear—bearded and hungover and a hard-on and no lawy…
he drank wine all night of the 28th, and he kept thinking of her: the way she walked and talked and… the way she told him things that s… but were not, and he knew the colo…
love, he said, gas kiss me off kiss my lips kiss my hair my fingers
I only met one student at City College that I liked, Robert Becker. He wanted to be a writer. “I’m going to learn everything there is to learn about writing. It will be like taking a ca...
Everybody had gym period at the same time. Baldy’s locker was about four or five down from mine in the same row. I went to my locker early. Baldy and I had a similar problem. We hated w...
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...
The riots ended, the baby calmed down, and I found ways to avoid Janko. But the dizzy spells persisted. The doctor wrote me a standing order for the green-white librium capsules and the...
225 days under grass and you know more than I. they have long taken your blood, you are a dry stick in a basket. is this how it works?
I can see myself now after all these suicide days and n… being wheeled out of one of those… (of course, this is only if I get… by a subnormal and bored nurse
I always wanted to ball Henry Miller, she said, but by the time I got there it was too late. damn it, I said, you girls
neither does this mean the dead are at the door begging bread before
beheaded in the middle of the night scratching my sides I am covered with bites kick my white legs out of the shee…
horses running with her miles away laughing with a fool Bach and the hydrogen bomb