the gods play nofavorites.

Beasts bounding through time. Van Gogh writing his brother for paintsHemingway testing his shotgunCeline going broke as a doctor of medicinethe impossibility of being humanVillon expelled from Paris for being a thiefFaulkner drunk in the...

There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets. . . when...

there’s no clarity.there was never meant to be clarity.

the world is better withoutthem.only the plants and the animals aretrue comrades.I drink to them and withthem.

If you have the ability to love, love yourself first.

We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.

Medju nama nije bilo nikakve veze, osim sto smo pili i vodili ljubav.

Basically, that’s why I wrote: to save my ass, to save my ass from the madhouse, from the streets, from myself.

sometimes it’s hard to knowwhat todo.

she wasn’t veryinterestingbut few peopleare.

to ask them to legalize pot is something like asking them to put butter on the handcuffs before they place them on you, something else is hurting you – that’s why you need pot or...

she slammed the door andwas gone.I looked at the closed doorand at the doorknoband strangelyI didn’t feelalone.

it is so dark now with the sadness ofpeoplethey were tricked, they were taught to expect theultimate when nothing ispromisednow young girls weep alone in small roomsold men angrily swing their canes atvisions asladies comb...

Drink, fuck and smoke plenty of cigarettes.

The dead do not needaspirin orsorrow,I suppose.but they might needrain.not shoesbut a place towalk.not cigarettes,they tell us,but a place to burn.or we’re told:space and a place to flymight be thesame.the dead don’t need me.nor do...

I feel no grief for being called somethingwhichI am not;in fact, it’s enthralling, somehow, like a goodback rub

Genius could be the ability to say a profound thing in a simple way, or even to say a simple thing in a simpler way.

girlsplease give yourbodies and yourlivestothe young menwhodeserve thembesidesthere isno wayI would welcometheintolerabledullsenseless hellyou would bringmeandI wish youluckin bedandoutbut notinminethankyou.

there’s nothing todiscussthere’s nothing torememberthere’s nothing toforgetit’s sadand it’s notsadseems themost sensiblethinga person can doissitwith drink inhandas the wallswavetheir goodbyesmilesone comes throughit allwith a certain amount ofefficiency andbraverythenleavessome acceptthe possibility ofGodto help themgetthroughotherstake itstaight onand...

where some god pissed a rain of reason to make things grow only to die,

one doesn’t even think ofthe liverand if the liverdoesn’t think ofus, that’sfine.

the price of creationis nevertoo high.the price of livingwith other peoplealwaysis.

Like anybody can tell you, I am not a very nice man. I don’t know the word. I have always admired the villain, the outlaw, the son of a bitch. I don’t like the clean-shaven...

the worst thing,” he told me,”is bitterness, people end up sobitter.

Whether I was a genius or not did not so much concern me as the fact that I simply did not want a part of anything. The animal-drive and energy of my fellow man amazed...

that your power of commandwith simple language wasone of the magnificent things ofour century.(from the poem: result)

I see a brightportionunder the overhead lightthat shades intodarknessand then into darkerdarknessand I can’t see beyond that.

I have one problem, I don’t hate people. They disgust me and I want to get away from them. I do not have hatred. I have an escape mechanism.

Thus we come to the problem of determining what the poem is ‘about.’ Charles Altieri notes that ‘[a]n expression of the self can be one that is intended, the self’s act, or one that is...

when we were kidslaying around the lawnon ourbellieswe often talkedabouthowwe’d like todieandwe allagreed on thesamething;we’d alllike to diefucking(althoughnone of ushaddone anyfucking)and nowthatwe are hardlykidsany longerwe think moreabouthownot todieandalthoughwe’rereadymost ofuswouldprefer todo italoneunder thesheetsnowthatmost ofushave fuckedour livesaway.

the best part waspulling down theshadesstuffing the doorbellwith ragsputting the phonein therefrigeratorand going to bedfor 3 or 4days. and the next bestpartwasnobody evermissedme.

crawled like a blind slug into the web

when you’re younga pair offemalehigh-heeled shoesjust sittingalonein the closetcan fire yourbones;when you’re oldit’s justa pair of shoeswithoutanybodyin themandjust aswell.

as long as there arehuman beings aboutthere is never going to beany peacefor any individualupon this earth (oranywhere elsethey mightescape to).all you can dois maybe grabten lucky minuteshereor maybe an hourthere.somethingis working toward youright now,...

La mayoría de la muerte de la gente es una farsa, no queda en ellos nada que pueda morir

The centuries are sprinkled with rare magicwith divine creatureswho help us get past the common and extraordinary ills that beset us

it does seemthe more we drinkthe better the wordsgo.

I found the best thingI could dowas just to type awayat my own workand let the dyingdieas they always have.

when I drive the freeways I see the soul of humanity ofmy city and it’s ugly, ugly, ugly: the living have choked theheartaway.

having nothing to struggleagainstthey have nothing to strugglefor.

And it seems people should not build houses anymoreit seems people should stop working and sit in small rooms on second floorsunder electric lightswithout shades;it seems there is a lot to forgetand a lot not...

I didn’t know who tobelievebutone thing I doknow: when a man islivingmany claim relationshipsthat are hardlysoand after he dies, well,then it’s everybody’sparty.

sometimes all we need to be able to continue aloneare the deadrattling the wallsthat close us in.

unaccountably we are aloneforever aloneand it was meant to bethat way,it was never meantto be any other way–and when the death strugglebeginsthe last thing I wish to seeisa ring of human faceshovering over me–better just...

I paid, got up, walkedto the door, openedit.I heard the mansay, “that guy’snuts.”out on the street Iwalked northfeelingcuriouslyhonored.

I sing the body electric”I know what hemeantI know what hewanted:to be completely alive every momentin spite of the inevitable.we can’t cheat death but we can make itwork so hardthat when it does takeusit will...

Are there good governments and bad governments? No, there are only bad governments and worse governments.

My heart is a thousand years old. I am not like other people.

some moments are nice, some arenicer, some are even worthwritingabout.