#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
majestic, majic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet—
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,…
“It’s the manager, Freddy. He has started whistling this song. He’s whistling it when I come in in the morning and he never stops, and he’s whistling it when I go home at night. It’s be...
we like to shower afterwards (I like the water hotter than she) and her face is always soft and pe… and she’ll wash me first spread the soap over my balls
Times were still hard. Nobody was any more surprised than I when Mears– Starbuck phoned and asked me to report to work the next Monday. I had gone all around town putting in dozens of a...
I took Tanya to the airport the next afternoon. We had a drink in the same bar. The high-yellow wasn’t around; all that leg was with somebody else. “No. You love sex and there’s nothing...
sitting in a dark bedroom with 3 j… female. brown paper bags filled with trash… everywhere. is one-thirty in the afternoon.
a very miraculous thing just happe… my beerbottle flipped over backwar… and landed on its bottom on the fl… and I have set it upon the table t… but the photos were not so lucky t…
you no faces no faces at all laughing at nothing—
these women are supposed to come and see me but they never do. there’s the one with the long scar…
I pick up the skirt, I pick up the sparkling beads in black, this thing that moved once around flesh,
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.
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…
One day I was at the bar between races and I saw this woman. God or somebody keeps creating women and tossing them out on the streets, and this one’s ass is too big and that one’s tits ...
if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce— pickers of Salinas?