Posts Tagged ‘Friday’

It is Friday: Go Write Ahead.

Friday, February 11th, 2011

Brood, I do, on myself naked

She handed me a full glass and said, “This is the last drink you will ever take”

Are you equally unspectacular?

If you love me, as I love you

We’ll both be friendly and untrue

When you go. Go TV spots and skywriting. I mean it

I am surprised and pleased at the recent abundance of the nearly naked

I am not even going to drink. Only beer or brandy

We have reason to be afraid. This is a terrible place

Our friend the owl

Something has been said for sobriety but very little

Smears brandy on the trampling boot

Up to the bar on a donkey!

Blessings on thee, little man

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan

But helicopters

It is AWP Friday: Go Right the Hell Ahead

Friday, February 4th, 2011

A lot of my life is eating soup with a fork

Huge red dirty wall fog

Oh, sod you!

I’d rather be dead than think about death

Drink chose me

Bars are the only sparks

Spouses, money, James Joyce, beer?

Give me my duff. And pour custard on it from a ladle

Bad publicity? Your own obituary

Ah, I never get no snout

I smoked my way half-way through the book of Genesis and three inches of my mattress

Old potatoes, cold

It is Friday: Go Right Ahead

Friday, October 22nd, 2010

The fact I can write this at a bar is almost like flying cars.

Seated for hours in front of a large glass of beer!

The odor of gin, of tar, of ginger, of leeks and cloves.

Murder the wine merchant!

From one end of the country to another, there exists a freemasonry of alcoholics.

Did you just drop my bishop in your beer?

This place smells of lazy crowds.

Today we should drink four bottles of wine and read the contents of our libraries haphazardly.

Blar.

I arrived from between two of these mountains, I looked at the lake and the moon, and that was it, nothing else happened.

It is Friday: Go Write Ahead

Friday, August 20th, 2010

previous generations of American writers pointed the way

and why would he be murdered when everyone in town knew he had terminal cancer?

i wanted to be “a pure mathematician” more than anything else (the mathematician as artist)

and for a while I even lived in a tree house

i was still drinking in the minor leagues at the time

bees don’t stop drinking

excuses to go to the store

warm beers in the attic again

a flag flew, lit by a spotlight, indicating the man was in residence

three reasons why alcohol and the writer go so well together.

1. Trance-like states

2. Nothing is free on planet E

It is Friday: Go Right Ahead

Friday, August 6th, 2010

At the table inquire, “Anyone not for beer?”

Throw yourself about, do imitations, maybe even fight a little

x drinks drunk in y moments are more potent than x drinks drunk in 2y moments

He resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again

At least a hangover is the truth

Put a broad hand on the beer-engine!

Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing

Have some bitter and go to the prom

Being drunk is one big ellipsis

Mayonnaise will remove stains

Some of Poe’s tales convey perfectly the idea of a hangover

I am a flashy dresser and I shout a lot!

I should stop, but it is OK to get drunk if a certain thing goes wrong. It has. So here I go

It is Friday: Go Right Ahead

Friday, July 30th, 2010

Damn the men with careful smiles

My head is a jug

Alcoholic philanthropy is still philanthropy

OK I got drunk and forgot I was giving a party

Killed 9 bottles


She got drunk and turned on me like a fish-wife

Summer is not a season, it’s an occupation

Every compulsion is put upon writers to become safe, polite, obedient, and sterile

Drink is a rebellion

I’m just happy to be here

Go ahead, talk out your hat

Mussed again, your hair

Agile tongue, thickened

It is Friday: Go Right Ahead

Friday, July 23rd, 2010

Civilization ends at the waterline

Floating horror of a 35 mph red-light

Your pelvis aches in your hands, too?

You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially when it’s waving a razor sharp hunting knife in your eye


Get drunk. Get naked. Fall

Despite your refusal

Who can control themselves around so much “rough trade”?

There is nothing more helpless and irresponsible than a man in the depths of an ether binge

It was embarrassing

When black-dog down, get your tires changed. It will make you glow 2 hours

Gobble

Sloppy drunk and starting to sink into the winged chair

Electric monkey

Fly

Go Right Ahead: It is Friday

Friday, June 18th, 2010

A mind too active is no mind at all.

Drink at any dance.

My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.

A glass of beer first thing in the morning.


Grew wild, broke furniture, beat out windows.

His favorite bar: The Corner Unusual.

I may look like a beer salesman but I am a poet.

The garden is a river flowing south.

Racing the devil for Rainbow, a beer joint.

You smell like television.

It is Friday: Go Right Ahead

Friday, June 11th, 2010

She claimed he was my type, which I took to mean a little bit twisted.

A massive hollow swallowed.

Too drunk to stop.

I’m nihilistic, antagonistic, violent, horrible – but not obliterated, yet.

Room 453 smelled of beer, barbecue, and old leather.

The party was a bust, full of Valley chicks, jocks, and rockabillies.

Pig Mountain Valley in the middle of the South.

I prepared by swallowing a couple of quaaludes washed down with Jack Daniels.

Stirring the fiery liquid.

One drink away.

Light leeches out.

It is Fry-day: Go Right Ahead

Friday, June 4th, 2010

Teenagers, drunk, disheveled, excited…they ruined our party.

What is the feeling when you’re driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?

Like you haven’t slept in the kitchen.

And now listen now old buck old wild sunombitch don’t you get drunk today.

I’ll walk across the damn prairie by myself.

Always staying late, freeloading, shouting, foolish.

There will be no music, just dancing.

I am hightingled on the beer.

All our best men are laughed at in this nightmare land.

Disorderly, lost.

Dude, don’t go halfway.

That’s being blackened, from the inside.