#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
a woman told a man when he got off a plane that I was dead. a magazine printed the fact that I was dead
On the elevator up, I was the only white man there. It seemed strange. They talked about the riots, not looking at me. “Jesus,” said a coal black guy, "it’s really something. These guys...
the feelings I get driving past the railroad yard never on purpose but on my way to… are the feelings other men have fo… see the tracks and all the boxcars
To end up alone in a tomb of a room without cigarettes or wine— just a lightbulb
I walked into the counselor’s office. It was Eddie Beaver sitting behind the desk. The clerks called him “Skinny Beaver.” He had a pointed head, pointed nose, pointed chin. He was all p...
I took the envelope home to my mother and handed it to her and walked into the bedroom. My bedroom. The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even ...
That night I took Tammie to the harness races. We went upstairs to the second deck and sat down. I brought her a program and she stared at it a while. (At the harness races, past perfor...
sometimes after you get your ass kicked real good by the forces you often wish you were a crane standing on one leg in blue water
she’s young, she said, but look at me, I have pretty ankl… and look at my wrists, I have pret… wrists my god,
here I’m supposed to be a great po… and I’m sleepy in the afternoon here I am aware of death like a gi… charging at me and I’m sleepy in the afternoon
strange warmth, hot and cold femal… I make good love, but love isn’t j… sex. most females I’ve known are ambitious, and I like to lie aroun… on large comfortable pillows at 3…
I didn’t contest the divorce, didn’t go to court. Joyce gave me the car. She didn’t drive. All I had lost was 3 or 4 million. But I still had the post office. “I saw you with that bitch...
often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink,
there are beasts in the salt shake… and airdromes in the coffeepot. my mother’s hand is in the bag dra… and from the backs of spoons come the cries of tiny tortured animals…
We are like roses that have never… bloom when we should have bloomed… it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting