Unabridged

Writing, creative writing is like herding cats. Unlike a homework assignment for wayward Henry—the stuff surfaced when it was good an...

Henry the huckster  — eyes wide open running a hundred miles a hour into the freak show, eyes wide open.  He didn’t have anything...

sucks, but here it is— Henry’s in bed, listening to Freddie King on a colored radio station somewhere in Georgia— slow-moving Texas ...

The Rolling Stones looked for studios in Paris and couldn’t find any they liked. They had a truck that was equipped with a studio...

Henry Lucowski fucked,   jilted by most and himself too. He was junk, the lot of it was. The Henry thing reeking, feasted on by mag...

Henry in a shit-hole, not suicidal,  just holding on—a hand full of nothing.  Microscopic razor-blades, intercellular antagonis...

Henry one eye open and one eye closed, he could pick and choose this way. The same with his mind, open to some closed to the others, he...

Maybe another candy bar would jump-start Henry, more coffee he thought.  Coffee and candy for breakfast. In Wah Wah Coffee Shop, Muddy ...

When Charles Bukowski was asked how he got through life? He said,  “ One candy bar at a time…”   Buk funny in a dark way, a horrific   ...

Over the last couple of weeks Henry wondering, mulling over the “why” of writing.  His work short of august, not getting there, Hen...

Henry on top of  his typewriter, caressing it some, at it again, not wanting to write,  pushing himself to do it. In  a vacuum wr...

Henry looking at a blank page early Sunday morning at Wah Wah coffee shop. The same paltry fat chick, same place everyday, first to ge...

  Henry walking the hallways and alleyways of his mind, he could see their faces, babyish youth. At first sweet and innocent, later...

  Blasted,  writing like a fire ball, crashing with head empty, the power came and went, it never asked you if it should, you had to r...

Henry didn’t want anything in or out of the world, having to siphon every bit of fire to get through the day took most of his energy. ...

Henry half in the bag, cob-webs in his head, it was often like this in the morning. He didn’t like early dead-lines and appointment...

Trying to make the most of the holidays in a Buddhist country, it fit him like a hand-made shoe, the mantra of Christmas and the re...

You could see them picnicking on Sunday, off-duty city secretaries and airline hostesses naked on blankets airing out their bushe...

Exalted up on high in  fairie- world  where paper meets stone , beauteous-color sprayed painted every-where as the glitter-machine wor...

Somedays, today maybe,  unable to get the first paragraph off, stuck in traffic or on the three yard line.  Drinking at...