Unabridged

Henry looking at photos in a lazy way, breezy, feeling lovely, gazing the work of great photographers.  He liked photographe...

Henry thinking—holy fuck come on people! Nobody reading his stories @ Busted on Empty anymore— Henry’s last two stories o...

Henry drunk some, at it again, listening to the Rolling Stones, junked on beer. Lately, unable to write without a drink, needin...

Good luck Henry plenty of juice, gassed, feeling warm inside.   Sunday afternoon, laying in a bed, room dusted with white en...

Henry’s cell phone didn’t ring much. In the day (some day, in some time frame, most likely in the past) a phone call often lead to ...

Henry,feeling beastly, burning up inside, cravin, dope, junk.  Did u see the film, “Night of the Iguana?" The Rever...

Henry laying in bed at 6 am, just awake from a dream. He dreamed he was a full-blown narrative writer who worked at it.  ...

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...