#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
I was coming home from classes down Westview hill. I never had any books to carry. I passed my exams by listening to the class lectures and by guessing at the answers. I never had to cr...
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, ...
they don’t make it the beautiful die in flame— suicide pills, rat poison, rope, w… ever... they rip their arms off,
Lydia met me at the airport. She was horny as usual. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “I’m hot! I play with myself but it doesn’t do any good.” “Lydia, my leg is still in terrible shape. I jus...
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
Then I started attending Mt. Justin Jr. High. About half the guys from Delsey Grammar School went there, the biggest and toughest half. Another gang of giants came from other schools. O...
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 ...
sometimes you climb out of bed in… I’m not going to make it, but you… remembering all the times you’ve f… you walk to the bathroom, do your… in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my,…
you just don’t know how to do it, you know that, and you can’t do a lot of other useful things either. it’s the fault of the
in junior high school Big Max was a problem. we’d be sitting during lunch hour eating our peanut butter sandwiche… and potato chips.
man, he said, sitting on the steps your car sure needs a wash and wax… I can do it for you for 5 bucks, I got the wax, I got the rags, I… I need.
We are like roses that have never… bloom when we should have bloomed… it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting
we take what we can see— the engines driving us mad, lovers finally hating; this fish in the market staring upward into our minds;
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...
here I’ll be 55 in a week. what will I write about