#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
the blue pencil of the wave shots of yellow road a steering wheel an insane woman sitting next to you
when I look back now at the abuse I took from her I feel shame that I was so innocent,
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)....
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...
I forget the beginning time. 6 or 7 p.m. Something like that. All you did was sit with a handful of letters, take a streetmap and figure your run. It was easy. All the drivers took much...
you shoulda been at this party, I know you hate parties but you seem to be at most of them… anyhow, I took my girl, you know her—
yesterday drunken Alice gave me a jar of fig jam and today she whistles
this man used to be an interesting writer, he was able to say brisk and refreshing things. at the time
the lilies storm my brain by god by god like nazi storm troopers! do you think I’m going tizzy?
at North Avenue 21 drunk tank you… there was always some guy who woul… way to the crapper and then you would curse him good,… he would know enough to either be…
I had been corresponding with Tanya and on the evening of January 5th she phoned. She had a high excited sexy voice like Betty Boop used to have. “I’m flying down tomorrow evening. Will...
I went up to Tammie’s place with my cardboard cartons. First I got the items she mentioned. Then I found other things—other dresses and blouses, shoes, an iron, a hair dryer, Dancy’s cl...
hooray say the roses, today is bla… and we are red as blood. hooray say the roses, today is Wed… and we bloom wher soldiers fell and lovers too,
To pacify Lydia I agreed to go to Muleshead, Utah. Her sister was camping in the mountains. The sisters actually owned much of the land. It had been inherited from their father. Glendol...
it beats love because there aren’t… wounds: in the morning she turns on the radio, Brahms or… or Stravinsky or Mozart. she boil… eggs counting the seconds out loud…