#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
used to drive those trucks so hard and for so long that my right foot would go dead from pushing down on the accelerator.
I was 50 years old and hadn’t been to bed with a woman for four years. I had no women friends. I looked at them as I passed them on the streets or wherever I saw them, but I looked at t...
all I’ve ever known are whores, ex… madwomen. I see men with quiet, gentle women—I see them in the sup… I see them walking down the street… I see them in their apartments: pe…
no we can’t we can’t win it I’ve decided we can’t win it just for a while we thought we cou… but that was just for a while
since my last name was Fuch, he sa… believe the school yard was tough:… powder down my neck, threw gravel… with rubber bands in class, and ou… me names, well, one name mainly, o…
I took Tanya to Santa Anita. The current sensation was a 16 year old jockey still riding with his 5 pound bug advantage. He was from the east and was riding at Santa Anita for the first...
call it th e green house effect or… but it just doesn’t rain like it used to. particularly remember the rains of… depression era.
I was back in L.A. about a week and a half. It was night. The phone rang. It was Cecelia, she was sobbing. “Hank, Bill is dead. You’re the first one I’ve called.” “I’m so glad you came ...
stuck in the rain on the freeway,… these are the lucky ones, these ar… dutifully employed, most with thei… as possible as they try not to thi… this is our new civilization: as m…
I had just won $115 from the heads… was naked upon my bed listening to an opera by one of th… and had just gotten rid of a very… when there was a knock upon the wo…
is a highrise apt. next door and he beats her at night and she… and I see her the next day standing in the driveway with curl… and she has her huge buttocks jamm…
the goldfish sing all night with g… and the whores go down with the st… the whores go down with the stars I’m sorry, sir, we close at 4:30, besides yr mother’s neck is dirty,
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, ...
The flies are angry bits of life; why are they so angry? it seems they want more, it seems almost as if they are angry
what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light
