#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
The riots ended, the baby calmed down, and I found ways to avoid Janko. But the dizzy spells persisted. The doctor wrote me a standing order for the green-white librium capsules and the...
they called Céline a Nazi they called Pound a fascist they called Hamsun a Nazi and a f… they put Dostoevsky in front of a… squad
all I’ve ever known are whores, ex… madwomen. I see men with quiet, gentle women—I see them in the sup… I see them walking down the street… I see them in their apartments: pe…
The next time you listen to Borod… remember he was just a chemist who wrote music to relax; his house was jammed with peor e: students, artists, drunkards, bur…
I know a woman who keeps buying puzzles Chinese puzzles blocks
I awakened to dryness and the fern… the potted plants yellow as corn; my woman was gone and the empty bottles like bled co… surrounded me with their uselessne…
listen, he said, you ever seen a b… bucket? no, I told him. well, what happens is that now and… will climb up on top of the others
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…
In the morning I heard her walkin… It was about 10:30 a.m. I was sic… She shook me. “Listen, I want you… “So what? I’ll screw her too.” “Yeah,” she laughed, “yeah.”
Lydia liked parties. And Harry was a party-giver. So we were on our way to Harry Ascot’s. Harry was the editor of Retort, a little magazine. His wife wore long see-through dresses, show...
It was 3 or 4 days before I had to fly to Houston to give a reading. I went to the track, drank at the track, and afterwards I went to a bar on Hollywood Boulevard. I went home at 9 or ...
I had Fridays and Saturdays off, which made Sunday the roughest day. Plus the fact that on Sunday they made me report at 3:30 p.m. instead of my usual 6:18 p.m. This Sunday I went in an...
I didn’t do much the rest of the week. The Oaktree meet was on. I went to the track 2 or 3 times, broke even. I wrote a dirty story for a sex mag, wrote 10 or 12 poems, masturbated, and...
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...
what is it about lobsters and crab… those white-pink shells that always make me hungry just looking at them there in the butcher’s display case