#AmericanWriters #1993 #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
there’s Barry in his ripped walkin… he’s on Thorazine is 24 looks 38 lives with his mother in the same
Christmas eve, alone, in a motel room down the coast near the Pacific— hear it?
A sound awakened me. It was not quite daylight. Cecelia was moving around getting dressed. I looked at my watch. “I want to watch the sun come up. I love sunrises!” “I haven’t been able...
listening to Bruckner on the radio wondering why I’m not half mad over the latest breakup with my latest girlfriend wondering why I’m not driving the…
The funeral was to be at 10:30 a.m. but it was already hot. I had on a cheap black suit, bought and fitted in a rush. It was my first new suit in years. I had located the son. We drove ...
all the women all their kisses the different ways they love and talk and need. their ears they all have
It was 12 hours a night, plus supervisors, plus clerks, plus the fact that you could hardly breathe in that pack of flesh, plus stale baked food in the “non-profit” cafeteria. Plus the ...
often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink,
The war was going very well in Europe, for Hitler. Most of the students weren’t very vocal on the matter. But the instructors were, they were almost all left-wing and anti-German. There...
I awakened to dryness and the fern… the potted plants yellow as corn; my woman was gone and the empty bottles like bled co… surrounded me with their uselessne…
I was editing a little magazine at the time, The Laxative Approach. I had two co-editors and we felt that we were printing the best poets of our time. Also some of the other kind. One o...
turmoil is the god madness is the god permanent living peace is permanent living death. agony can kill
I have been painting these last tw… it’s not much, you’re correct, but in this tournament great dream… history removes her dress and beco… and I have awakened in the morning
almost dawn blackbirds on the telephone wire waiting as I eat yesterday’s forgotten sandwich
To end up alone in a tomb of a room without cigarettes or wine— just a lightbulb