#AmericanWriters
he sat naked and drunk in a room o… night, running the blade of the kn… under his fingernails, smiling, th… of all the letters he had received telling him that
I saw Sara every three or four days, at her place or at mine. We slept together but there was no sex. We came close but we never quite got to it. Drayer Baba’s precepts held strong. We ...
drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end o… of wine, I have typed from a dozen… poesy an old man maddened for the flesh of young gi…
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...
old Butch, they fixed him the girls don’t look like much anymore. when Big Sam moved out of the back
Every night was about the same. I’d drive along the coast looking for a place to have dinner. I wanted an expensive place that wasn’t too crowded. I developed a nose for those places. I...
the balance is preserved by the sn… the Santa Monica cliffs; the luck is in walking down Wester… and having the girls in a massage parlor holler at you, “Hello, Swe…
a single dog walking alone on a hot sidewalk of summer appears to have the power of ten thousand gods.
a woman, a tire that’s flat, a disease, a desire: fears in front of you, fears that hold so still
once starving in Philadelphia I had a small room it was evening going into night and I stood at my window on the 3r…
she wrote me for years. “I’m drinking wine in the kitchen. it’s raining outside. the children are in school.” she was an average citizen
“It’s the manager, Freddy. He has started whistling this song. He’s whistling it when I come in in the morning and he never stops, and he’s whistling it when I go home at night. It’s be...
murdered in the alleys of the land frost-bitten against flagpoles pawned by females educated in the dark for the dark vomiting into plugged toilets
we’d had any number of joints and… beer and I was on the bed stretche… and she said, “look, I’ve had 3 ab… in a row, real fast, and I’m sick… abortions, I don’t want you to sti…
Thanks for the good letter. I don’t think it hurts, sometimes, to remember where you came from. You know the places where I came from. Even the people who try to write about that or mak...