#AmericanWriters
dying for a beer dying for and of life on a windy afternoon in Hollywood listening to symphony music from m… on the floor.
great writer remains in bed shades down doesn’t want to see anyone doesn’t want to write anymore doesn’t want to try anymore;
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
During the second and third grades I still didn’t get a chance to play baseball but I knew that somehow I was developing into a player. If I ever got a bat in my hands again I knew I wo...
sit on this bench and look at the sea and the freaks and the lovers. need new eyes a new mouth new pillows, a new woman.
Nothing matters but flopping on a mattress with cheap dreams and a beer as the leaves die and the horses d… and the landladies stare in the ha…
no we can’t we can’t win it I’ve decided we can’t win it just for a while we thought we cou… but that was just for a while
Wagner wasn’t done with us. I was standing in the yard during gym class when he walked up to me. “I’m putting you on garbage detail until further notice.” The kids had to work off their...
the rag. she sat there, glooming. I couldn’t do anything with her. it was raining. she got up and left.
to be writing poetry at the age of… like a schoolboy, surely, I must be crazy; racetracks and booze and arguments with the landlord;
I had been corresponding with a lady in San Francisco for several months. Her name was Liza Weston and she survived by giving dance lessons, including ballet, in her own studio. She was...
take a writer away from his typewr… and all you have left is the sickness which started him
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.
crud, he said, hauling it out of the water, what is it? a Hollow-Back June Whale, I said… no, said a guy standing by us on t…
she’s young, she said, but look at me, I have pretty ankles, and look at my wrists, I have pret… wrists