#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
here I’ll be 55 in a week. what will I write about
it is justified all dying is justified all killing all death all passing, nothing is in vain
I suppose so. I was living in an attic in Phila… it became very hot in the summer a… bars. I didn’t have any money and… I put a small ad in the paper and…
That evening I started drinking. It wasn’t going to be easy without Katherine. I found some things she had left behind—earrings, a bracelet. I’ve got to get back to the typewriter, I th...
To give life you must take life, and as our grief falls flat and ho… upon the billion—blooded sea I pass upon serious inward—breakin… with white—legged, white—bellied r…
I looked for a job all summer and couldn’t find one. Jimmy Hatcher caught on at an aircraft plant. Hitler was acting up in Europe and creating jobs for the unemployed. I had been with J...
knew you were a bad-ass,” he said. you sat in the back of Art class a… you never said anything. then I saw you in that brutal figh… with the guy with the dirty yellow
Bruckner wasn’t bad even though he got down on his knees and proclaimed Wagner the master.
Some say we should keep personal r… poem, stay abstract, and there is some r… but jezus; twelve poems gone and I don’t keep…
Fay was all right with the pregnancy. For an old gal, she was all right. We waited around at our place. Finally the time came. “It won’t be long,” she said. “I don’t want to get there t...
the German hotel was very strange… double doors to the rooms, very th… looked the park and the vasser ter… it was usually too late for breakf… would be everywhere changing sheet…
take a writer away from his typewr… and all you have left is the sickness which started him
drive to the beach at night in the winter and sit and look at the burned-dow… wonder why they just let it sit th… in the water.
In the morning Dee Dee drove me to the Sunset Strip for breakfast. The Mercedes was black and shone in the sun. We drove past the billboards and the nightclubs and the fancy restaurants...
horses running with her miles away laughing with a fool Bach and the hydrogen bomb