It was only the matter of a new voice. Nobody listened to an old voice anymore. Old voices became a part of one’s self, like a fingernail.
Fay had a spot of blood on the left side of her mouth and I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.
Do some living and get yourself a typewriter.
The park grass looked greener, the park benches looked better and the flowers were trying harder.
I could never accept life as it was, I could never gobble down all its poisons bu there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking.
Learn, he says, that there will be hours, days and months ahead of feeling absolutely terrible and nothing can change that; neither new girlfriends, health professionals, changes of diet, dope, humility, or God.
I got up and walked back to my roominghouse. The moonlight was bright. My footsteps echoed in the empty street and it sounded as if somebody was following me, I looked around. I was mistaken. I was quite alone.
I knew exactly what I was doing: I was doing nothing. because I knew there was nothing to do.
You were destroyed by what you befriended.
I’m going to open another vottle. not a vottle, but a bottle. you open it and I’ll drink it. and you try to write as much as I did without falling off of your chair.
And there I was, 225 pounds, perpetually lost and confused, short legs, ape-like upper body, all chest, no neck, head too large, blurred eyes, hair uncombed, 6 feet of geek, waiting for her.
When I begin to doubt my ability to work the word, I simply read another writer and know I have nothing to worry about. My contest is only with myself, to do it right, with power, and force, and delight, and gamble.
Was I the only person who was distracted by this future without a chance?
I walk into the kitchen, look at the typer down there on the floor. It’s a dirty floor. It’s a dirty typer that types dirty stories.
Finally there is nothing here for death to take away.
What’s genius? I don’t know but I do know that the difference between a madman and a professional is that a pro does as well as he can within what he has set out to do and a madman does exceptionally well at what he can’t help doing.
I’m going, she said. I love you but you’re crazy, you’re doomed.
That’s the way it ends. The thin edge of the wedge.
I like the way Mahler wandered about in his music and still retained his passion. He must have looked like an earthquake walking down the street.
I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.