i was born to hustle roses down the avenue of the dead.

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

We waste days like mad blackbirds and pray for alcoholic nightsour silk-sick human smiles wrap around us like somebody else's confetti

What? You’d dare drink right after getting out of jail for intoxication?” That’s when you need a drink the most.

I seldom know what I'm going to write when I sit down. There isn't much agony and sweat of the human spirit involved in doing it. The writing's easy, it's the living that is sometimes difficult.

Any asshole can chase a skirt, art takes discipline.

there must be a way. surely there must be a way that we have not yet thought of. who put this brain inside of me? it cries it demands it says that there is a chance. it will not say "no.