#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
I got in the shower and burned my balls last Wednesday. met this painter called Spain, no, he was a cartoonist,
I hear them outside: “does he always type this late?” “no, it’s very unusual.” “he shouldn’t type this
But then it began raining again. The Stone had me out on a thing called Sunday Collection, and if you’re thinking of church, forget it. You picked up a truck at West Garage and a clipbo...
I was coming off an affair that ha… frankly, I was sliding down into a… really feeling shitty and low when I lucked into this lady with… covered with a jeweled canopy
Lydia and I were always fighting. She was a flirt and it irritated me. When we ate out I was sure she was eyeballing some man across the room. When my male friends came by to visit and ...
it sits outside my window now like and old woman going to market… it sits and watches me, it sweats nevously through wire and fog and dog—bark
I went into the bends. I got drunker and stayed drunker than a shit skunk in Purgatory. I even had the butcher knife against my throat one night in the kitchen and then I thought, easy,...
vain vanilla ladies strutting while van Gogh did it to himself. girls pulling on silk hose
oh, how worried they are about my soul! I get letters the phone rings... “are you going to be all right?”
it is justified all dying is justified all killing all death all passing, nothing is in vain
Not much happened during the rest of her stay. We drank, we ate, we fucked. There were no arguments. We took long drives down along the shore, ate at seafood cafes. I didn’t bother with...
don’t ever get the idea I am a poe… at the racetrack any day half drun… betting quarters, sidewheelers and… but let me tell you, there are som… who go where the money goes, and s…
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often
So gramps wrote Joyce a big check and there we were. We rented a little house up on a hill, and then Joyce got this stupid moralistic thing. “We both ought to get jobs,” Joyce said, “to...
the lair of the hunted is hidden in the last place you’d ever look and even if you find it you won’t believe