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...

kool enough to die but not kill I take my doctor’s green pill drink tea as the sharks swim through vases o…

turmoil is the god madness is the god permanent living peace is permanent living death. agony can kill

The boys on Dorsey station didn’t know my problems. I’d enter through the back way each night, hide my sweater in a tray and walk in to get my timecard: We had a game going, the black-w...

John F. Kennedy flower knocks upo… shot through the neck; the gladiolas gather by the dozens… India dripping into Ceylon;

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.

there are beasts in the salt shake… and airdromes in the coffeepot. my mother’s hand is in the bag dra… and from the backs of spoons come the cries of tiny tortured animals…

the branches break, the birds fall… the whores stand straight, the bombs stack, evening, morning, night, peanutbutter,

Somehow the money slipped away after that and soon I left the track and sat around in my apartment waiting for the 90 days’ leave to run out. My nerves were raw from the drinking and th...

it’s the same as before or the other time or the time before that. here’s a cock and here’s a cunt

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…

shot off his left ear then his right, and then tore off his belt buckle with hot lead, and then

horses running with her miles away laughing with a fool Bach and the hydrogen bomb