#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
listening to Wagner as outside in the dark the wind bl… trees wave and shake lights go off and on the walls creak and the… bed...
I didn’t do much the rest of the week. The Oaktree meet was on. I went to the track 2 or 3 times, broke even. I wrote a dirty story for a sex mag, wrote 10 or 12 poems, masturbated, and...
The flies are angry bits of life; why are they so angry? it seems they want more, it seems almost as if they are angry
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…
majestic, magic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet—
there are beasts in the salt shake… and airdromes in the coffeepot. my mother’s hand is in the bag dra… and from the backs of spoons come the cries of tiny tortured animals…
is a highrise apt. next door and he beats her at night and she… and I see her the next day standing in the driveway with curl… and she has her huge buttocks jamm…
There was a gang of us down there. 150 or 200. There were tedious papers to fill out. Then we all stood up and faced the flag. The guy who swore us in was the same guy who had sworn me ...
The jew bent over and died. 99 machine guns were shipped to France. somebody w… while I inspected the propeller of an old monoplane
I walked off the job again and the police stopped me for running a red light at Serrano… my mind was rather gone and I stood in a patch of leaves
On Christmas I had Betty over. She baked a turkey and we drank. Betty always liked huge Christmas trees. It must have been 7 feet tall, and 1/2 as wide, covered with lights, bulbs, tins...
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
the wind blows hard to night and it’s a cold wind and I think about the boys on the row. hope some of them have a bottle
death wants more death, and its we… I remember my father’s garage, how… I would brush the corpses of flies from the windows they thought were… their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
my goldfish stares with watery eye… into the hemisphere of my sorrow; upon the thinnest of threads we hang together, hang hang hang