#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
saw him sitting in a lobby chair in the Patrick Hotel dreaming of flying fish and he said “hello friend you’re looking good.
in the hospitals and jails it’s the worst in madhouses it’s the worst in penthouses
all the women all their kisses the different ways they love and talk and need. their ears they all have
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 sun slides down through the sh… have a pair of black shoes and a p… brown shoes. can hardly remember the girls of m… there is numb blood pulsing throug…
One night I was coming around the corner after sneaking down to the cafeteria for a pack of smokes. And there was a face I knew. It was Tom Moto! The guy I had subbed with under The Sto...
I drank for the next week. I drank night and day and wrote 25 or 30 mournful poems about lost love. It was Friday night when the phone rang. It was Mercedes. “I got married,” she said, ...
horses running with her miles away laughing with a fool Bach and the hydrogen bomb
outside my window Sunday. I am eating a grapefruit. church is over at the… Orthodox to the west.
Style is the answer to everything. A fresh way to approach a dull or… To do a dull thing with style is p… To do a dangerous thing with style… Bullfighting can be an art
dumb, Jesus Christ, some people are so dumb you can hear them splashing around
Bach, I said, he had 20 children. he played the horses during the da… he f—ed at night and drank in the mornings. he wrote music in between.
in the slow Mexican air I watched… and they cut off his ear, and his… no more terror than a rock. driving back the next day we stopp… and watched the golden red and blu…
a poem is a city filled with stree… filled with saints, heroes, beggar… filled with banality and booze, filled with rain and thunder and p… drought, a poem is a city at war,
Our man was there to meet us, Gary Benson. He also wrote poetry and drove a cab. He was very fat but at least he didn’t look like a poet, he didn’t look North Beach or East Village or l...