#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
you know what Li Po said when ask… Artist or Rich? I’d rather be Rich,” he replied,… sitting on the doorsteps of the Rich.”
There are sketches on the walls of… and outside a large green bus swer… insanity sprung from a waving line… says the radio, and Jane Austin,… “I am going to do her portrait on…
That Tuesday night we were sitting at my place drinking; Tammie, me and her brother, Jay. The phone rang. It was Bobby. “Louie and his wife are down here and she’d like to meet you.” Lo...
escape from the black widow spider is a miracle as great as art. what a web she can weave slowly drawing you to her she’ll embrace you
call it love stand it up in the failing light put it in a dress pray sing beg cry laugh
the mockingbird had been following… all summer mocking mocking mocking teasing and cocksure; the cat crawled under rockers on p…
I used to take the back off the telephone and stuff it with ra… and when somebody knocked I wouldn’t answer and if they pers… I’d tell them in terms vulgar
16 and one-half inch neck 68 years old lifts weights body like a young
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronad… I used to get drunk and throw the radio through the wi… while it was playing, and, of cour… it would break the glass in the wi…
That night I gave another bad reading. I didn’t care. They didn’t care. If John Cage could get one thousand dollars for eating an apple, I’d accept $500 plus air fare for being a lemon....
what i liked about e.e. cummings was that he cut away from the holiness of the word and with charm
I only met one student at City College that I liked, Robert Becker. He wanted to be a writer. “I’m going to learn everything there is to learn about writing. It will be like taking a ca...
Wednesday night found me at the airport waiting for Iris. I sat around and looked at the women. None of them—except for one or two—looked as good as Iris. There was something wrong with...
this time has finished me. I feel like the German troops whipped by snow and the communists walking bent with newspapers stuffed into
here I’ll be 55 in a week. what will I write about