#Americans #XXCentury #1973 #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame #ItCatchesMyHeartInItsHands
One night my father took me on his milk route. There were no longer any horsedrawn wagons. The milk trucks now had engines. After loading up at the milk company we drove off on his rout...
another bed another woman more curtains another bathroom another kitchen
it beats love because there aren’t… wounds: in the morning she turns on the radio, Brahms or… or Stravinsky or Mozart. she boil… eggs counting the seconds out loud…
first of all, I had a hard time, a… locating the parking lot for the b… wasn’t off the main boulevard wher… the cars all driven by merciless k… were doing 55 mph in a 25 mph zone…
There were continual fights. The teachers didn’t seem to know anything about them. And there was always trouble when it rained. Any boy who brought an umbrella to school or wore a rainc...
naked in that bright light the four horse falls and throws a 112-pound boy into the hooves
Then I was called down to personnel at the old Federal Build– ing. They let me sit the usual 45 minutes or hour and one half. The man walked me back to a desk. There sat this woman. She...
I’ve watched this city burn twice in my lifetime and the most notable event was the reaction of the politicians in the
first they used to, he told me, gun and bomb the elephants, you could hear their screams over… but you flew high to bomb the peop… you never saw it,
I saw her when I was in the left… going east on Sunset. she was sitting with her legs crossed reading a paperback.
what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light
I’m not going to die easy; I’ve sat on your suicide beds in some of the worst holes in America,
some people never go crazy. me, sometimes I’ll lie down behind… for 3 or 4 days. they’ll find me there. it’s Cherub, they’ll say, and
you know I sat on the same barstool in Phi… 5 years I drank canned heat and the cheape… I was beaten in alleys by well-fed…
Back in L.A., there was almost a week of peace. Then the phone rang. It was the owner of a Manhattan Beach nightclub, Marty Seavers. I had read there a couple of times before. The club ...