I drank for the next week. I drank night and day and wrote 25 or 30 mournful poems about lost love. It was Friday night when the phone rang. It was Mercedes. “I got married,” she said, ...

Jack London drinking his life awa… writing of strange and heroic men. Eugene O’Neill drinking himself o… while writing his dark and poetic works.

the essence of the belly like a white balloon sacked is disturbing like the running of feet on the stairs

I don’t know how many bottles of b… I have consumed while waiting for… to get better. I don’t know how much wine and whi… and beer

the balance is preserved by the sn… the Santa Monica cliffs; the luck is in walking down Wester… and having the girls in a massage parlor holler at you, “Hello, Swe…

Cecelia sat and watched us drink. I could see that I repulsed her. I ate meat. I had no god. I liked to fuck. Nature didn’t interest me. I never voted. I liked wars. Outer space bored m...

It was hot that night at the reading, which was to be held at St. Mark’s Church. Tammie and I sat in what was used as the dressing room. Tammie found a full-length mirror leaning agains...

this man sometimes forgets who he is. sometimes he thinks he’s the Pope. other times he thinks he’s a

—he’s a dandy —small moustache —usually sucking on a cigar he tends to lean into cars as he transacts business

I stop my car at the signal I see her walking past the graveya… as she walks past the iron fence I can see through the iron fence and I see the headstones

they laugh continually even when a board falls down and destroys a face or distorts a