#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;
was a truly amazing man he pretended to be rich even though we lived on beans and… when we sat down to eat, he said,
I had just won $115 from the heads… was naked upon my bed listening to an opera by one of th… and had just gotten rid of a very… when there was a knock upon the wo…
“You ought to try to be like Abe Mortenson,” said my mother, “he gets straight A’s. Why can’t you ever get any A’s?” “Henry is dead on his ass,” said my father. “Sometimes I can’t belie...
you’ve got to fuck a great many wo… beautiful women and write a few decent love poems. and don’t worry about age and/or freshly-arrived talents.
I am driving down Wilton Avenue when this girl of about 15 dressed in tight blue jeans that grip her behind like two hand… steps out in front of my car
knew you were a bad-ass,” he said. you sat in the back of Art class a… you never said anything. then I saw you in that brutal figh… with the guy with the dirty yellow
the illusion is that you are simpl… reading this poem. the reality is that this is more than a poem.
I can remember starving in a small room in a strange city shades pulled down, listening to classical music I was young I was so young it hur…
I got a letter in the mail. It was addressed from Hollywood. Dear Chinaski: I’ve just read almost all your books. I work as a typist in a place on Cherokee Ave. I’ve hung your picture i...
I watched the board and the 6 drop… after a first flash of 18 from a m… of 12...two minutes to post and a… kept jamming against my back, but… I bet 20 to win and walked out to…
The next thing I knew, I had a young girl from Texas on my lap. I won’t go into details of how I met her. Anyway, there it was. She was 23. I was 36. She had long blonde hair and was go...
I would, of course, prefer to be w… instead of with a photograph of an… to the sound of the anvil chorus a… girls kicking high, showing everyt… but I might as well be dead right…
She wasn’t really a cop, she was a clerk-cop. And she started coming in and telling me about a guy who wore a purple stick pin and was a “real gentleman.” “Well,” I’d ask, “how was old ...
In the morning I heard her walkin… It was about 10:30 a.m. I was sic… She shook me. “Listen, I want you… “So what? I’ll screw her too.” “Yeah,” she laughed, “yeah.”