#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;
naked along the side of the house, 8 a.m., spreading sesame seed oil over my body, Jesus, have I come to this? I once battled in dark alleys for…
light brown stare that dumb blank marvelous light brown stare I’ll take care of it.
have we gone wrong again? we laugh less and less, become more sadly sane. all we want is the absence of others.
I feel gypped by dunces as if reality were the property of little men with luck and a headstart, and I sit in the cold
half-past nowhere alone in the crumbling tower of myself stumbling in this the
sick with the flu drinking beer my radio on loud enough to overcome the sounds of the
has been going on for some time. there is this young waitress where… at the racetrack. how are you doing today?” she asks… winning pretty good,” I reply.
I awakened to dryness and the fern… the potted plants yellow as corn; my woman was gone and the empty bottles like bled co… surrounded me with their uselessne…
It was another Sunday that we got into the Model-T in search of my Uncle John. “He has no ambition,” said my father. “I don’t see how he can hold his god-damned head up and look people ...
Sara was preparing the turkey dressing and I sat in the kitchen talking to her. We were both sipping white wine. The phone rang. I went and got it. It was Debra. “I just wanted to wish ...
all I’ve ever known are whores, ex… madwomen. I see men with quiet, gentle women—I see them in the sup… I see them walking down the street… I see them in their apartments: pe…
here I am in the ground my mouth open and
maybe I’ll win the Irish Sweepsta… maybe I’ll go nuts maybe Harcourt Brace will call or maybe unemployment insurance or rich lesbian at the top of a hill.
My father had two brothers. The younger was named Ben and the older was named John. Both were alcoholics and ne’er-do-wells. My parents often spoke of them. “Neither of them amount to a...