#AmericanWriters
Bruckner wasn’t bad even though he got down on his knees and proclaimed Wagner the master.
in the Valkerie Mountains among the strutting peacocks I found a flower as large as my head
they say that nothing is wasted: either that or it all is.
Lydia met me at the airport. She was horny as usual. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “I’m hot! I play with myself but it doesn’t do any good.” “Lydia, my leg is still in terrible shape. I jus...
the acute and terrible air hangs w… as summer birds mingle in the bran… and warble and mystify the clamor of the mind… an old parrot
a great white light dawns across t… continent as we fawn over our failed traditi… often kill to preserve them or sometimes kill just to kill.
she wore a platinum blond wig and her face was rouged and powder… and she put the lipstick on making a huge painted mouth and her neck was wrinkled
if you’re going to try, go all the way. otherwise, don’t even start. if you’re going to try, go all the way.
suppose like others have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have listened to the simple…
take a writer away from his typewr… and all you have left is the sickness which started him
are we going to the movies or not? she asked him. all right, he said, let’s go. I’m not going to put any pan ties… so you can finger-fuck me in the
the branches break, the birds fall… the whores stand straight, the bombs stack, evening, morning, night, peanutbutter,
you may not believe it but there are people who go through life with very little friction or
the hearse comes through the room… the beheaded, the disappeared, the… mad. the flies are a glue of sticky pas… their wings will not
In the morning Dee Dee drove me to the Sunset Strip for breakfast. The Mercedes was black and shone in the sun. We drove past the billboards and the nightclubs and the fancy restaurants...