#AmericanWriters #1973 #BurningInWaterDrowningInFlame
I’m soft. I dream too. I let myself dream. I dream of being famous. I dream of walking the streets of London and
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 got lucky the next day. They called my name. It was a different doctor. I stripped down. He turned a hot white light on me and looked me over. I was sitting on the edge of the examina...
my father always said, “early to b… early to rise makes a man healthy,… and wise.” it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our… and we were up at dawn to the smel…
I only met one student at City College that I liked, Robert Becker. He wanted to be a writer. “I’m going to learn everything there is to learn about writing. It will be like taking a ca...
we have everything and we have not… and some men do it in churches and some men do it by tearing butt… in half and some men do it in Palm Spring…
But, there were still bits of action. One guy was caught on the same stairway that I had been trapped on. He was caught there with his head under some girl’s skirt. Then one of the girl...
Times were still hard. Nobody was any more surprised than I when Mears– Starbuck phoned and asked me to report to work the next Monday. I had gone all around town putting in dozens of a...
as the orchid dies and the grass goes insane, let’s have one for the los… met an old man and a tired whore
boy, don’t come around here tellin… can’t cut it, that they’re pitching you low and insid… they are conspiring against you, that all you want is a chance but…
I was coming home from classes down Westview hill. I never had any books to carry. I passed my exams by listening to the class lectures and by guessing at the answers. I never had to cr...
There was death in that place on the hill. I knew it the first day I walked out the screen door and into the backyard. A zing– ing binging buzzing whining sound came right at me: 10,000...
death wants more death, and its we… I remember my father’s garage, how… I would brush the corpses of flies from the windows they thought were… their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies
Nothing matters but flopping on a mattress with cheap dreams and a beer as the leaves die and the horses d… and the landladies stare in the ha…
So I was surprised when the phone rang a couple of nights later and it was Cassie. “What are you doing, Hank?” She gave me the address, it was either Westwood or West L. A. “I have plen...