#AmericanWriters #1993 #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
the pleasures of the damned are limited to brief moments of happiness: like the eyes in the look of a dog… like a square of wax,
Bruckner wasn’t bad even though he got down on his knees and proclaimed Wagner the master.
well, first Mae West died and then George Raft, and Eddie G. Robinson’s been gone long time,
cleaned my place the other day first time in ten years and found 100 rejected poems: fastened them all to a clipboard much bad reading.
“she shoots up in the neck,” she t… me. I told her to stick it into my ass and she tried and said, “oh oh… and I said, “what the hell’s the m… she said, “nothing, this is New Y…
no way back to Barcelona. the green soldiers have invaded th… madmen rule Spain and during a heat wave in 1952 I b… no way back to the Rock of Gibral…
16 years old during the depression I’d come home drunk and all my clothing— shorts, shirts, stockings—
at their best, there is gentleness… some understanding and, at times,… courage but all in all it is a mass, a glo… have too much.
I didn’t see Lydia for a couple of days, although I did manage to phone her 6 or 7 times during that period. Then the weekend arrived. Her ex-husband, Gerald, always took the children o...
majestic, majic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet—
she wrote me for years. “I’m drinking wine in the kitchen. it’s raining outside. the children are in school.” she was an average citizen
a single dog walking alone on a hot sidewalk of summer appears to have the power of ten thousand gods.
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.
stepped into the wrong end of the… right leg which was bad to begin w… with a tv writer and an actor, som… life to make a sitcom and luckily… day at the track I get a box seat…
here I’ll be 55 in a week. what will I write about
