#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
the best often die by their own ha… just to get away, and those left behind can never quite understand why anybody
more wasted days, gored days, evaporated days. more squandered days, days pissed away,
it sits outside my window now like and old woman going to market… it sits and watches me, it sweats nevously through wire and fog and dog—bark
got out, fellow said, “hey!” walke… me, we shook hands, he slipped me… tickets for free car washes, “find… told him, walked on through to wai… area with wife, we sat on outside…
I was sitting with an anarchist from Beverly Hills, Ben Solvnag, who was writing my biography when I heard her footsteps on the court walk. I knew the sound—they were always fast and fr...
bet on #6, I try red, I stare at… wonder what Chekhov would do, and… blue plates sit eating the carnage… and look very much like Russians a… my left tit and try to smile like…
I was glad I had money in the Sav… Friday afternoon hungover I didn’t have a job I was glad I had money in the Sav… I didn’t know how to play a guitar
The baby was crawling, discovering the world. Marina slept in bed with us at night. There was Marina, Fay, the cat and myself. The cat slept on the bed too. Look here, I thought, I have...
oh, how worried they are about my soul! I get letters the phone rings... “are you going to be all right?”
had it for a year, really put in lot of bedroom time, slept upright on two pillows to keep from coughing, all the blood drained from my head
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...
kool enough to die but not kill I take my doctor’s green pill drink tea as the sharks swim through vases o…
half-past nowhere alone in the crumbling tower of myself stumbling in this the
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
I laugh sometimes when I think ab… say Céline at a typewriter or Dostoevsky... or Hamsun...