#1973 #AmericanWriters #AtTerrorStreetAndAgonyWay #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame
terror finally becomes almost bearable but never quite terror creeps like a cat crawls like a cat
it’s unfortunate, and simply not the style, but I don’t care: girls remind me of hair in the sink, girls remind me of intestines and bladders and excretory movements; it’s unfortunate a...
I went upstairs to 409, had a stiff scotch and water, took some money out of the top drawer, went down the steps, got in my car and drove to the racetrack. I got there in time for the f...
you no faces no faces at all laughing at nothing—
she sits on the floor going through a cardboard box reading me love letters I have wri… while her 4 year old daughter lies… wrapped in a pink blanket and
what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light
which reminds me I shacked with Jane for 7 years she was a drunk I loved her my parents hated her
I kept getting letters from a lady who lived only a mile or so away. She signed them Nicole. She said she had read some of my books and liked them. I answered one of her letters and she...
you’ve got to fuck a great many wo… beautiful women and write a few decent love poems. and don’t worry about age and/or freshly-arrived talents.
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...
Lydia and I were always fighting. She was a flirt and it irritated me. When we ate out I was sure she was eyeballing some man across the room. When my male friends came by to visit and ...
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 ...
there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
the girls were young and worked the streets but often couldn’t score, they