I go to pick her up. she’s on some errand. she always has errands many things to do. I have nothing to do.
the cops want me to come down and… some guy who tried to rape me. I’ve lost the key to my car again;… the key to open the door but not t… to start it.
consistency is terrific: shark-mouth grubby interior with an almost perfect body, long blazing hair—
she’s not for you, man, she’s not your type, she’s erased she’s been used she’s got all the wrong
she bent over the side of the bed and opened the portfolio along the side of the wall. we were drinking. she said, “you promised me these
I paid this one’s fare all the way… to San Francisco then flew up to meet her at her br… and I got drunk and talked all night about a redhe…
she was sitting in the window of room 1010 at the Chelsea in New York, Janis Joplin’s old room. it was 104 degrees
she’s up seeing my doctor trying to get some diet pills; she’s not fat, she needs the speed… I go down to the nearest bar and w… at 3:30 in the afternoon of a tues…
I never wear dark shades but this red head went to get a prescription filled on Hollywood… and she kept haggling and working… me, snapping and snarling.
by God, I don’t know what to do. they’re so nice to have around. they have a way of playing with the balls
the history of melancholia includes all of us. me, I writhe in dirty sheets while staring at blue walls and nothing.
my doctor has just come into his o… from surgery. he meets me in the men’s john. “God damn,” he says to me, “where did you find her? oh, I jus…
I’ve come by, she says, to tell yo… that this is it. I’m not kidding,… over. this is it. I sit on the couch watching her ar… her long red hair before my bedroo…
this time has finished me. I feel like the German troops whipped by snow and the communists walking bent with newspapers stuffed into
reached up into the top of the clo… and took out a pair of blue pan ti… and showed them to her and asked “are these yours?” and she looked and said,
schoolgirls in pantyhose sitting on bus stop benches looking tired at 13 with their raspberry lipstick. it’s hot in the sun
a woman told a man when he got off a plane that I was dead. a magazine printed the fact that I was dead
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
I hear them outside: “does he always type this late?” “no, it’s very unusual.” “he shouldn’t type this
this guy he’s got a crazy eye and he’s brown a dark brown from the sun the Hollywood and Western sun
they go on writing pumping out poems— young boys and college professors wives who drink wine all afternoon while their husbands work,
I suppose like any other boy I had one best friend in the neigh… his name was Eugene and he was big… than I was and one year older. Eugene used to whip me pretty good…
here comes the fishhead singing here comes the baked potato in dra… here comes nothing to do all day l… here comes another night of no sle… here comes the phone wringing the…
drinking German beer and trying to come up with the immortal poem at 5 p.m. in the afternoon. but, ah, I’ve told the
I saw her when I was in the left… going east on Sunset. she was sitting with her legs crossed reading a paperback.
I used to take the back off the telephone and stuff it with ra… and when somebody knocked I wouldn’t answer and if they pers… I’d tell them in terms vulgar
I had to take a shit but instead I went into this shop to have a key made. the woman was dressed
I had this room in front on DeLon… and I used to sit for hours in the daytime looking out the front window.
murder the roaches spit out paper clips and the helicopter circles and cir… smelling for blood
they took my man off the street the other day he wore an L.A. Rams sweatshirt w… the sleeves cut off