#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
I forget the beginning time. 6 or 7 p.m. Something like that. All you did was sit with a handful of letters, take a streetmap and figure your run. It was easy. All the drivers took much...
majestic, majic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet—
Not much happened during the rest of her stay. We drank, we ate, we fucked. There were no arguments. We took long drives down along the shore, ate at seafood cafes. I didn’t bother with...
swans die in the Spring too and there it floated dead on a Sunday sideways circling in the current
dying for a beer dying for and of life on a windy afternoon in Hollywood listening to symphony music from m… on the floor.
I was standing in line at the bank… when the old fellow in front of me dropped his glasses (luckily, with… case) and as he bent over
On the elevator up, I was the only white man there. It seemed strange. They talked about the riots, not looking at me. “Jesus,” said a coal black guy, "it’s really something. These guys...
if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce— pickers of Salinas?
and the subnormal. all through grammar school junior high high school junior college
listening to Bruckner on the radio wondering why I’m not half mad over the latest breakup with my latest girlfriend wondering why I’m not driving the…
I wait on life like a pregnancy, p… the gut but all I hear now is the piano slamming its teeth throu… brain
I hear them outside: “does he always type this late?” “no, it’s very unusual.” “he shouldn’t type this
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…
Fay was pregnant. But it didn’t change her and it didn’t change the post office either. The same clerks did all the work while the miscellaneous crew stood around and argued about sport...
the droll noon where squadrons of worms creep up like stripteasers to be raped by blackbirds. I go outside