#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
the hearse comes through the room… the beheaded, the disappeared, the… mad. the flies are a glue of sticky pas… their wings will not
I only met one student at City College that I liked, Robert Becker. He wanted to be a writer. “I’m going to learn everything there is to learn about writing. It will be like taking a ca...
they ge t up on their garage roof both of them 80 or 90 years old standing on the slant she wanting to fall really all the way
we had goldfish and they circled a… in the bowl on the table near the… covering the picture window and my mother, always smiling, wanting… to be happy, told me, ‘be happy He…
consistency is terrific: shark-mouth grubby interior with an almost perfect body, long blazing hair—
I sat in the airport and waited. You never knew about photos. You could never tell. I was nervous. I felt like vomiting. I lit a cigarette and gagged. Why did I do these things? I didn’...
I read a book about John Dos Pas… the book once radical—communist John ended up in the Hollywood Hi… and reading the Wall Street Journal
I think of automobiles parked in a parking lot when I think of myself dead I think of frying pans when I think of myself dead
with old cars, especially when you… and drive them for many years a love affair is inevitable: you even learn to accept their little
the vultures at the zoo (all three of them) sit very quietly in their caged tree and below
It’s never quite right, he said, t… the way the music sounds, the way… written. It’s never quite right, he said, a… taught, all the loves we chase, al…
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 ...
in the Valkerie Mountains among the strutting peacocks I found a flower as large as my head
listen, man, don’t tell me about t… sent, we didn’t receive them, we are very careful with manuscrip… we bake them burn them
it is justified all dying is justified all killing all death all passing, nothing is in vain