#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
The next day in bed I got tired of waiting for the airplanes and I found a large yellow notebook that had been meant for high school work. It was empty. I found a pen. I went to bed wit...
I cross the room to the last wall the last window the last pink sun with its arms around the world
he talks like he writes and he has a face like a dove, unt… externals. little shiver of horror runs throu… about
suppose like others have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have listened to the simple…
places to hunt places to hide are getting harder to find, and pet canaries and goldfish too, did you… that?
she wrote me for years. “I’m drinking wine in the kitchen. it’s raining outside. the children are in school.” she was an average citizen
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 ...
I would, of course, prefer to be w… instead of with a photograph of an… to the sound of the anvil chorus a… girls kicking high, showing everyt… but I might as well be dead right…
got out, fellow said, “hey!” walke… me, we shook hands, he slipped me… tickets for free car washes, “find… told him, walked on through to wai… area with wife, we sat on outside…
drinking German beer and trying to come up with the immortal poem at 5 p.m. in the afternoon. but, ah, I’ve told the
they’d come around and they’d ask “you finished your 2nd novel yet?” “no.”
Lila Jane was a girl my age who lived next door. I still wasn’t allowed to play with the children in the neighborhood, but sitting in the bedroom often got dull. I would go out and walk...
I found that the only way I could keep from dizzy-spelling into my case was to get up and take a walk now and then. Fazzio, a supervisor who had the station at the time, saw me walking ...
you came out, she said, and then you kicked this guy’s car and then you threw yourself into a… you crushed the whole bush,
one of Lorca’s best lines is, “agony, always agony ...” think of this when you