my mother knocked on my rooming-ho… and came in looked in the dresser drawer: Henry you don’t have any clean stockings?

I always wanted to ball Henry Miller, she said, but by the time I got there it was too late. damn it, I said, you girls

red hair real she whirled it and she asked “is my ass still on?”

the droll noon where squadrons of worms creep up like stripteasers to be raped by blackbirds. I go outside

these things that we support most… have nothing to do with up, and we do with them out of boredom or fear or money or cracked intelligence;

you consult psychiatrists and phil… when things aren’t going well and whores when they are. the whores are there for young boy… men; to the young boys they say,

liked D . H. Lawrence he could get so indignant he snapped and he ripped with wonderfully energetic sentenc… he could lay the word down

Meanwhile, there was still Joyce, and her geraniums, and a couple of million if I could hang on. Joyce and the flies and the geraniums. I worked the night shift, 12 hours, and she pawed...

think of de vils in hell and stare at a beautiful vase of flowers as the woman in my bedroom

she sits up there drinking wine while her husband is at work. she puts quite