I need a tube-shaped bathtub, to play the tuba in. I make love like I make music—in a shower that’s in a phone booth that’s in 1981, the year before I was born.

Slim is queer and though Nelson isn’t supposed to mind that he does. He also minds that there are a couple of slick blacks making it at the party and that one little white girl...

He doesn’t blame people for many sins, but he does hate uncoordination, the root of all evil, as he feels it, for without coordination there can be no order, no connecting.

As long as Nelson was socked into baseball statistics or that guitar or even the rock records that threaded their sound through all the fibers of the house, his occupation of the room down the...

The voice welling up out of this little man is terrific, Harry had noticed it at the house, but here, in the nearly empty church, echoing off the walnut knobs and memorial plaques and high...

We are cruel enough without meaning to be.

The world keeps ending but new people too dumb to know it keep showing up as if the fun’s just started.

The fucking world is running out of gas.

Hitherto, the Palestinians had been relatively immune to this Allahu Akhbar style. I thought this was a hugely retrograde development. I said as much to Edward. To reprint Nazi propaganda and to make a theocratic...

Kilmartin wrote a highly amusing and illuminating account of his experience as a Proust revisionist, which appeared in the first issue of Ben Sonnenberg’s quarterly Grand Street in the autumn of 1981. The essay opened...