#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;
I had begun to dislike my father. He was always angry about something. Wherever we went he got into arguments with people. But he didn’t appear to frighten most people; they often just ...
16 years old during the depression I’d come home drunk and all my clothing— shorts, shirts, stockings—
I stayed five days and nights. Then I couldn’t get it up any more. Joanna drove me to the airport. She had bought me a new piece of luggage and some new clothing. I hated that Dallas-Fo...
I found that the only way I could keep from dizzy-spelling into my case was to get up and take a walk now and then. Fazzio, a supervisor who had the station at the time, saw me walking ...
I went to my place, started drinking. I snapped on the radio and found some classical music. I got my Coleman lantern out of the closet. I turned out the lights and sat playing with the...
drunk on the dark streets of some… it’s night, you’re lost, where’s y… room? you enter a bar to find yourself, order scotch and water.
yes, they begin out in a willow, I… the starch mountains begin out in… and keep right on going without re… pumas and nectarines somehow these mountains are like
That summer, July 1934, they gunned down John Dillinger outside the movie house in Chicago. He never had a chance. The Lady in Red had fingered him. More than a year earlier the banks h...
Two nights later I went over to Tammie’s place on Rustic Court. I knocked. The lights weren’t on. It seemed empty. I looked in her mailbox. There were letters in there. I wrote a note, ...
“...I’ve seen people in front of their typewriters in such a bind that it would blow their intestine… right out of their assholes if the… were trying to shit.”
ah, Merryman, fighter on the docks, killed a man while they were unloa… bananas. mean the man he killed
it is like this when you slip down, done like a wound-up victrola (you remember those?) and you go downtown
as the orchid dies and the grass goes insane, let’s have one for the los… met an old man and a tired whore
you go for these wenches, she said… you go for these whores, I’ll bore you. I don’t want to be shit on anymore… I said,