#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
washed—up, on shore, the old yello… out again I write from the bed as I did last year.
I am in this low—slung sports car painted a deep, rich yellow driving under an Italian sun. I have a British accent. I’m wearing dark shades
dumb, Jesus Christ, some people are so dumb you can hear them splashing around
look there. the one you considered killing you… for. you saw her the other day getting out of her car
I have just spent one—hour—and—a—h… handicapping tomorrow’s card. when am I going to get at the poem… well, they’ll just have to wait
I’ll settle for the 6 horse on a rainy afternoon a paper cup of coffee in my hand a little way to go,
turmoil is the god madness is the god permanent living peace is permanent living death. agony can kill
neither does this mean the dead are at the door begging bread before
Jimmy Hatcher worked part time in a grocery store. While none of us could get jobs he could always get one. He had his little movie star face and his mother had a great body. With his f...
“...I’ve seen people in front of their typewriters in such a bind that it would blow their intestine… right out of their assholes if the… were trying to shit.”
re-reading some of Fante’s The Wine of Youth in bed this mid-afternoon my big cat
dying has its rough edge. no escaping now. the warden has his eye on me. his bad eye. I’m doing hard time now.
I got in the shower and burned my balls last Wednesday. met this painter called Spain, no, he was a cartoonist,
he comes out at 7:30 a.m. every da… with 3 peanut butter sandwiches, a… there’s one can of beer which he floats in the baitbucket. he fishes for hours with a small t…
I found a room on Temple Street in the Filipino district. It was $3.50 a week, upstairs on the second floor. I paid the landlady—a middle-aged blond—a week’s rent. The toilet and tub we...