#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
luxury ocean liners crossing the water full of the indolent and rich passing from this place to that
was much easier to be a genius in… only 3 or 4 literary magazines and… or 5 times you could end up in Ger… you could possibly meet Picasso fo… maybe only Miró.
neither does this mean the dead are at the door begging bread before
The ultra-violet ray machine clicked off. I had been treated on both sides. I took off the goggles and began to dress. Miss Ackerman walked in. “Not yet,” she said, “keep your clothes o...
she’s young, she said, but look at me, I have pretty ankles, and look at my wrists, I have pret… wrists
it is like this when you slip down, done like a wound-up victrola (you remember those?) and you go downtown
I was fairly drunk when it began and I took out my bottle and… along the way. I was reading a wee… Kandel and I did not look quite a… pretty but
I had begun to dislike my father. He was always angry about something. Wherever we went he got into arguments with people. But he didn’t appear to frighten most people; they often just ...
I heard it first while screwing a… who had the biggest box in Scranton. I listened to it again as I wrote… to my mother
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.
you sit on the couch with me tonight new woman. have you seen the
Mindy stayed about a week. I introduced her to my friends. We went places. But nothing was resolved. I couldn’t climax. She didn’t seem to mind. It was strange. Around 10:45 PM one even...
We ran up the long ramp. I was ca… At the escalator Tammie saw the f… “Please,” I said, “we only have f… “I want Dancy to have the money.” “All right.”
I hear them outside: “does he always type this late?” “no, it’s very unusual.” “he shouldn’t type this
It was noon the next day when the phone rang. It was Lydia again. I heard a long insane wail like a wolverine shot in the arctic snow and left to bleed and die alone. . . . I slept most...