#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
I didn’t see Lydia for a couple of days, although I did manage to phone her 6 or 7 times during that period. Then the weekend arrived. Her ex-husband, Gerald, always took the children o...
the dead can sleep they don’t get up and rage they don’t have a wife. her white face like a flower in a closed
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 haven’t lived until you’ve been in a flophouse with nothing but one light bulb
used to drive those trucks so hard and for so long that my right foot would go dead from pushing down on the accelerator.
escape from the black widow spider is a miracle as great as art. what a web she can weave slowly drawing you to her she’ll embrace you
I was in the 4th grade when I found out about it. I was probably one of the last to know, because I still didn’t talk to anybody. A boy walked up to “Your mother has a hole . . .”—he to...
a single dog walking alone on a hot sidewalk of summer appears to have the power of ten thousand gods.
The next night as they moved the group from the main build– ing to the training building, I stopped to talk to Gus the old newsboy. Gus had once been 3rd-ranked welterweight contender b...
very tall girl lifts her nose at m… outside a supermarket as if I were a walking garbage can; and I had no desire for her, no more desire
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 reads to me from the New York… which I don’t buy, don’t know how they get in here, but it’s something about the Mafia one of the heads of the Mafia
I’ve always had trouble with money. this one place I worked everybody ate hot dogs and potato chips
the branches break, the birds fall… the whores stand straight, the bombs stack, evening, morning, night, peanutbutter,
Within a day or two, about 1 pm in the afternoon there was a knock at my door. It was a painter, Monty Riff, or so he informed me. He also told me that I used to get drunk with him when...