#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
Go to Tibet. Ride a camel. Read the Bible. Dye your shoes blue. Grow a Beard.
“she shoots up in the neck,” she t… me. I told her to stick it into my ass and she tried and said, “oh oh… and I said, “what the hell’s the m… she said, “nothing, this is New Y…
being the German kid in the 20’s i… was difficult. there was much anti-German feeling… a carry-over from World War 1. gangs of kids chased me through th…
There were times when Frank and I were friendly with Chuck, Eddie and Gene. But something would always happen (usually I caused it) and then I would be out, and Frank would be partly ou...
I began getting dizzy spells. I could feel them coming. The case would begin to whirl. The spells lasted about a minute. I couldn’t understand it. Each letter was getting heavier and he...
After dinner or lunch or whatever it was—with my crazy 12 hour night I was no longer sure what was what—I said, "Look, baby, I’m sorry, but don’t you realize that this job is driving me...
the best often die by their own ha… just to get away, and those left behind can never quite understand why anybody
near the corner table in the cafe middle-aged couple sit. they have finished their
I got a letter in the mail. It was addressed from Hollywood. Dear Chinaski: I’ve just read almost all your books. I work as a typist in a place on Cherokee Ave. I’ve hung your picture i...
The phone rang the next morning. Lydia had gone back to her place. It was Bobby, the kid who lived in the next block and worked in the porno bookstore. “Mindy’s down here. She wants you...
screen like a burglar to take your… the snake had crawled the hole, and she said, tell me about yourself.
It was hot that night at the reading, which was to be held at St. Mark’s Church. Tammie and I sat in what was used as the dressing room. Tammie found a full-length mirror leaning agains...
I’m soft. I dream too. I let myself dream. I dream of being famous. I dream of walking the streets of London and
a poem is a city filled with stree… filled with saints, heroes, beggar… filled with banality and booze, filled with rain and thunder and p… drought, a poem is a city at war,
I walked off the job again and the police stopped me for running a red light at Serrano… my mind was rather gone and I stood in a patch of leaves