#Americans #XXCentury #1993 #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
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.
is the slim tall ear-ringed bedroom damsel dressed in a long gown
she’s young, she said, but look at me, I have pretty ankles, and look at my wrists, I have pret… wrists
I see you drinking at a fountain w… blue hands, no, your hands are not… they are small, and the fountain i… where you wrote me that last lette… I answered and never heard from yo…
all I’ve ever known are whores, ex… madwomen. I see men with quiet, gentle women—I see them in the sup… I see them walking down the street… I see them in their apartments: pe…
I got in the shower and burned my balls last Wednesday. met this painter called Spain, no, he was a cartoonist,
It was another Sunday that we got into the Model-T in search of my Uncle John. “He has no ambition,” said my father. “I don’t see how he can hold his god-damned head up and look people ...
she died of alcoholism wrapped in a blanket on a deck chair on an ocean steamer.
I didn’t do much the rest of the week. The Oaktree meet was on. I went to the track 2 or 3 times, broke even. I wrote a dirty story for a sex mag, wrote 10 or 12 poems, masturbated, and...
as I go to the escalator young fellow and a lovely young gi… are ahead of me. her pants, her blouse are skintigh… as we ascend
But there were some good moments. My sometime friend from the neighborhood, Gene, who was a year older than I, had a buddy, Harry Gibson, who had had one professional fight (he’d lost)....
often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink,
rose red sunlight; take it apart in the garage like a puzzle:
I was shacked with a 24 year old girl from New York City for two weeks—about the time of the garbage
I think of automobiles parked in a parking lot when I think of myself dead I think of frying pans when I think of myself dead