#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
he talks like he writes and he has a face like a dove, unt… externals. little shiver of horror runs throu… about
he spoke to mice and sparrows and his hair was white at the age… his father beat him every day and… lit candles in the church. his grandmother came while the boy…
they don’t make it the beautiful die in flame— suicide pills, rat poison, rope, w… ever... they rip their arms off,
I never wear dark shades but this red head went to get a prescription filled on Hollywood… and she kept haggling and working… me, snapping and snarling.
long ago he edited a little magazi… was up in San Francisco during the beat era during the reading-poetry-with-jaz… and I remember him because he neve…
have we gone wrong again? we laugh less and less, become more sadly sane. all we want is the absence of others.
call it th e green house effect or… but it just doesn’t rain like it used to. particularly remember the rains of… depression era.
The toughest in the station. Apartment houses with boxes that had scrubbed-out names or no names at all, under tiny lightbulbs in dark halls. Old ladies standing in halls, up and down t...
we take what we can see— the engines driving us mad, lovers finally hating; this fish in the market staring upward into our minds;
consistency is terrific: shark-mouth grubby interior with an almost perfect body, long blazing hair—
listen, man, don’t tell me about t… sent, we didn’t receive them, we are very careful with manuscrip… we bake them burn them
I had this room in front on DeLon… and I used to sit for hours in the daytime looking out the front window.
They had me in the counselor’s office in one of the back rooms of the second floor. “Let me see how you look, Chinaski.” He looked at me. “All right, Mr. Chinaski, we’d like to know whe...
are we going to the movies or not? she asked him. all right, he said, let’s go. I’m not going to put any pan ties… so you can finger-fuck me in the
and so we suck on a cigar and a beer attempting to mend the love