#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
Making love in the sun, in the mor… in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun
Cleo’s going to make it now she’s got her shit together she split with Barney Barney wasn’t good for her she got a bigger apartment
she came to my place drunk riding a deer up on the front porc… so many women want to save the wor… but can’t keep their own kitchens… but me...
When I awakened it was 1:30 pm. I took a bath, got dressed, checked the mail. A letter from a young man in Glendale. "Dear Mr. Chinaski: I am a young writer and I think that I am a good...
they’d come around and they’d ask “you finished your 2nd novel yet?” “no.”
We got back to 1010. I had my check. I’d left word that we didn’t want to be disturbed. Tammie and I sat drinking. I’d read 5 or 6 love poems about her. “They knew who I was,” she said....
call it love stand it up in the failing light put it in a dress pray sing beg cry laugh
I was sitting with an anarchist from Beverly Hills, Ben Solvnag, who was writing my biography when I heard her footsteps on the court walk. I knew the sound—they were always fast and fr...
they say that nothing is wasted: either that or it all is.
this time has finished me. I feel like the German troops whipped by snow and the communists walking bent with newspapers stuffed into
my goldfish stares with watery eye… into the hemisphere of my sorrow; upon the thinnest of threads we hang together, hang hang hang
She wasn’t really a cop, she was a clerk-cop. And she started coming in and telling me about a guy who wore a purple stick pin and was a “real gentleman.” “Well,” I’d ask, “how was old ...
he walks up to my Volks after I have parked and rocks it back and forth grinning around his
R.O.T.C. kept me away from sports while the other guys practiced every day. They made the school teams, won their letters and got the girls. My days were spent mostly marching around in...
the legs are gone and the hopes—th… and I haven’t shaved in sixteen da… but the mailman still makes his ro… water still comes out of the fauce… myself with glazed and milky eyes…