#AmericanWriters
I can remember starving in a small room in a strange city shades pulled down, listening to classical music I was young I was so young it hur…
yes, they begin out in a willow, I… the starch mountains begin out in… and keep right on going without re… pumas and nectarines somehow these mountains are like
in the hospitals and jails it’s the worst in madhouses it’s the worst in penthouses
drunk on the dark streets of some… it’s night, you’re lost, where’s y… room? you enter a bar to find yourself, order scotch and water.
To end up alone in a tomb of a room without cigarettes or wine— just a lightbulb
I have lain in bed all day but I have written one poem and I am up now looking out the window and like a novelist might say
at one stage in my life I met a man who claimed to have visited Pound at St. Elizabeths. then I met a woman who not only claimed to have visited
“Chinaski, you got a following in Denver...” “yeah?” “yeah, I got a magazine and I wan… poems from you...”
he lives in a house with a swimmin… and says the job is killing him. he is 27. I am 44. I can’t seem t… get rid of
your life is your life don’t let it be clubbed into dank… be on the watch. there are ways out. there is a light somewhere.
too much too little too fat too thin or nobody. laughter or
this time has finished me. I feel like the German troops whipped by snow and the communists walking bent with newspapers stuffed into
Van Gogh cut off his ear gave it to a prostitute who flung it away in extreme
often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink,
there is enough treachery, hatred… human being to supply any given ar… and the best at murder are those w… and the best at hate are those who… and the best at war finally are th…
