#AmericanWriters
The next thing I knew, I had a young girl from Texas on my lap. I won’t go into details of how I met her. Anyway, there it was. She was 23. I was 36. She had long blonde hair and was go...
Every route had its traps and only the regular carriers knew of them. Each day it was another god damned thing, and you were always ready for a rape, murder, dogs, or insanity of some s...
the house next door makes me sad. both man and wife rise early and go to work. they arrive home in early evening.
I used to know a dutchman in a Ph… he’d take 3 raw eggs in his beer, 71, still working, strong,
know. I know. they are limited, have different needs and concerns. but I watch and learn from them.
I drank for the next week. I drank night and day and wrote 25 or 30 mournful poems about lost love. It was Friday night when the phone rang. It was Mercedes. “I got married,” she said, ...
I am hung by a nail the sun melts my heart I am cousin to the snake
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.
—he’s a dandy —small moustache —usually sucking on a cigar he tends to lean into cars as he transacts business
I have just spent one—hour—and—a—h… handicapping tomorrow’s card. when am I going to get at the poem… well, they’ll just have to wait
I sat in the airport and waited. You never knew about photos. You could never tell. I was nervous. I felt like vomiting. I lit a cigarette and gagged. Why did I do these things? I didn’...
little dark girl with kind eyes when it comes time to use the knife I won’t flinch and
64 days and nights in that place, chemotherapy, antibiotics, blood running into the catheter. leukemia.
I was sitting with an anarchist from Beverly Hills, Ben Solvnag, who was writing my biography when I heard her footsteps on the court walk. I knew the sound—they were always fast and fr...
red face Texas and age he’s at an L.A. racetrack