#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
looking out the window smoking rolled cigarettes drinking Sanka and watching the workers come on in
we were in bed and she started to fight: “you son of a bitch! you just wait… I’ll get you!” I began laughing:
225 days under grass and you know more than I. they have long taken your blood, you are a dry stick in a basket. is this how it works?
I always wanted to ball Henry Miller, she said, but by the time I got there it was too late. damn it, I said, you girls
each man must realize that it can all disappear very quickly: the cat, the woman, the job, the front tire,
her shoes themselves would light my room like many candles. she walks like all things shining on glass,
this man used to be an interesting writer, he was able to say brisk and refreshing things. at the time
there was a frozen tree that I wan… but the shells came down and in Vegas looking across at a g… at 3:30 in the morning, I died without nails, without a co…
The voices of the people were the same, no matter where you carried the mail you heard the same things over and over again. “You’re late, aren’t you?” “Where’s the regular carrier?” “He...
my grandfather was a tall German with a strange smell on his breath… he stood very straight in front of his small house and his wife hated him
listening to Wagner as outside in the dark the wind bl… trees wave and shake lights go off and on the walls creak and the… bed...
up in northern California he stood in the pulpit and had been reading for some time he had been reading poems about nature and the goodness
That night I gave another bad reading. I didn’t care. They didn’t care. If John Cage could get one thousand dollars for eating an apple, I’d accept $500 plus air fare for being a lemon....
Christmas eve, alone, in a motel room down the coast near the Pacific— hear it?
Upon awakening I got up and used Joanna’s toothbrush, drank a couple of glasses of water, washed my hands and face and got back into bed. Joanna turned around and my mouth found hers. M...