"You saved my life" he says "I owe you everything." "You don’t," I say, "you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just get gone," but he’s relentless, keeps saying "I owe you," says "Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood, you must want something, just tell me, and it’s yours." But I can’t look at him, can hardly speak, I took ( Read more... )

( painting 316 )

i think i have to be shylock, but i hope maybe i can be jessica sometimes.

it was a hollow, temporary victory that
only someone like us could
appreciate.
"we got another bottle at the apartment?" I'd ask.
"maybe 2, maybe 3," she'd
reply . . .
although we knew that time was always
running out on us
in every way
-bukowski

( Read more... )

15 April: Met her today pointblank in Grafton Street. The crowd brought us together. We both stopped. She asked me why I never came, said she had heard all sorts of stories about me. This was only to gain time. Asked me was I writing poems. About whom? I asked her. This confused her more and I felt sorry and mean. . . People began to look at us. ( Read more... )

In order to arrive there ( Read more... )

Franny took in her breath slightly but continued to hold the phone to her ear. A dial tone, of course, followed the formal break in the connection. She appeared to find it extraordinarily beautiful to listen to, rather as if it were the best possible substitute for the primordial silence itself. But she seemed to know, too, when to stop listening ( Read more... )

in three words i can sum up everything i've learned about life:
it goes on. -r.f.

i'm not happy here, but i'm starting to wonder if i'd really be that happy anywhere