#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” We got into my car and she told me where she lived. We stopped for a couple of big steaks, vegetables, stuff for a salad, potatoes, b...
I went to my place, started drinking. I snapped on the radio and found some classical music. I got my Coleman lantern out of the closet. I turned out the lights and sat playing with the...
this fear of being what they are: dead. at least they are not out on the s… are careful to stay indoors, those pasty mad who sit alone before the…
the wind blows hard to night and it’s a cold wind and I think about the boys on the row. hope some of them have a bottle
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
I took the envelope home to my mother and handed it to her and walked into the bedroom. My bedroom. The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours, even ...
the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break
he hooked to the body hard took it well and loved to fight had seven in a row and a small fle… over one eye,
I can see myself now after all these suicide days and n… being wheeled out of one of those… (of course, this is only if I get… by a subnormal and bored nurse
One morning about 10 a.m. the phon… I recognized the voice and began t… “Yes, yes, Miss Graves, but go on… “So therefore we have notified the… “And you are scheduled to throw yo…
I saw Bobby out front the next day when I went to buy a newspaper. “Louie phoned,” he said, “he told me what happened to him.” “He ran outside to vomit and Tammie grabbed his cock while...
Bach, I said, he had 20 children. he played the horses during the da… he f—ed at night and drank in the mornings. he wrote music in between.
I took Tanya to the airport the next afternoon. We had a drink in the same bar. The high-yellow wasn’t around; all that leg was with somebody else. “No. You love sex and there’s nothing...
I’m out of matches. the springs in my couch are broken. they stole my footlocker. they stole my oil painting of
this man sometimes forgets who he is. sometimes he thinks he’s the Pope. other times he thinks he’s a