#AmericanWriters
“what?” they say, “you got a computer?” it’s like I have sold out to the enemy. I had no idea so many
monkey feet small and blue walking toward you as the back of a building falls of… and an airplane chews the white sk…
have we gone wrong again? we laugh less and less, become more sadly sane. all we want is the absence of others.
take a writer away from his typewr… and all you have left is the sickness which started him
we talk about this film: Cagney fed this broad grapefruit faster than she could eat it and
The next day in bed I got tired of waiting for the airplanes and I found a large yellow notebook that had been meant for high school work. It was empty. I found a pen. I went to bed wit...
think of the beds used again and again to fuck in to die in. in this land
she was hot, she was so hot I didn’t want anybody else to have… and if I didn’t get home on time she’d be gone, and I couldn’t bear… I’d go mad. . .
There was death in that place on the hill. I knew it the first day I walked out the screen door and into the backyard. A zing– ing binging buzzing whining sound came right at me: 10,000...
we had goldfish and they circled a… in the bowl on the table near the… covering the picture window and my mother, always smiling, wanting… to be happy, told me, ‘be happy He…
dying has its rough edge. no escaping now. the warden has his eye on me. his bad eye. I’m doing hard time now.
In the betting line the other day man behind me asked, “are you Henry Chinaski?”
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...
my first and only wife painted and she talked to me about it: it’s all so painful
her shoes themselves would light my room like many candles. she walks like all things shining on glass,