#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
“she shoots up in the neck,” she t… me. I told her to stick it into my ass and she tried and said, “oh oh… and I said, “what the hell’s the m… she said, “nothing, this is New Y…
the old folks play a game in the park overlooking the sea shoving markers across cement with wooden sticks. four play, two on each side
she bent over the side of the bed and opened the portfolio along the side of the wall. we were drinking. she said, “you promised me these
the waste of words continues with a stunning persistence as the waiter runs by carrying the… tray
I’m soft. I dream too. I let myself dream. I dream of being famous. I dream of walking the streets of London and
all the way from Mexico straight from the fields to 14 wins 13 by k.o. he was ranked #3
Fay was all right with the pregnancy. For an old gal, she was all right. We waited around at our place. Finally the time came. “It won’t be long,” she said. “I don’t want to get there t...
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…
a symphony orchestra. there is a thunderstorm, they are playing a Wagner overture and the people leave their seats u… and run inside to the pavilion
the lady has me temporarily off th… and now the pecker stands up better. however, things change overnight— instead of listening to Shostakovi…
We had another fight. Later I was back at my place but I didn’t feel like sitting there alone and drinking. The night harness racing meet was on. I took a pint and went out to the track...
one of Lorca’s best lines is, “agony, always agony ...” think of this when you
all of a sudden I’m a painter. a girl from Galveston gives me $50 for a painting of a man holding a candycane while floating in a darkened sky.
naked along the side of the house, 8 a.m., spreading sesame seed oil over my body, Jesus, have I come to this? I once battled in dark alleys for…
stew at noon, my dear; and look: the ants, the sawdust, the mica plants, the shadows of banks like bad jokes; do you think we’ll hear