It is Friday: Go Write Ahead.
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
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
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
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
Author Spotlight & Random / Comments Off on It is Friday: Go Write Ahead
August 20th, 2010 / 5:39 pm
August 20th, 2010 / 5:39 pm
It is Friday: Go Right Ahead
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
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
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
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
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
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.