#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
the waste of words continues with a stunning persistence as the waiter runs by carrying the… tray
a woman told a man when he got off a plane that I was dead. a magazine printed the fact that I was dead
do not b other the beagle lying th… away from grass and flowers and pa… dreaming dogdreams, or perhaps dre… nothing, as men do awake; yes, leave him be, in that simple…
The next time you listen to Borod… remember he was just a chemist who wrote music to relax; his house was jammed with peor e: students, artists, drunkards, bur…
I awaken about noon and go out to… in my old torn bathrobe. I’m hung over hair down in my eyes barefoot
what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light
I was surprised the next morning when April knocked on the door. April was the one on ATD who had been at Harry Ascot’s party and who had left with the speed freak. It was 11 am. April ...
Then Joyce wanted to go back to the city. For all the draw– backs, that little town, haircuts or not, beat city life. It was quiet. We had our own house. Joyce fed me well.) Plenty of m...
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
Then I started attending Mt. Justin Jr. High. About half the guys from Delsey Grammar School went there, the biggest and toughest half. Another gang of giants came from other schools. O...
too much too little too fat too thin or nobody.
During the second and third grades I still didn’t get a chance to play baseball but I knew that somehow I was developing into a player. If I ever got a bat in my hands again I knew I wo...
I tried it standing up this time. it doesn’t usually work. this time it seemed
half-past nowhere alone in the crumbling tower of myself stumbling in this the
the girls were young and worked the streets but often couldn’t score, they