when I was a starving writer I used to read the major writers in the major magazines (in the library, of course

) and it made me feel very bad because – being a student of the word and the way, I realized that they were faking it: I could sense each false emotion, each utter pretense, it made me feel that the editors had their heads up their asses – or were being politicized into publishing in-groups of power but I just kept writing and not eating very much – went down from 197 pounds to 137 – but – got very much practice typing and reading printed rejection slips

it was when I reached 137 pounds that I said, to hell with it, quit typing and concentrated on drinking and the streets and the ladies of the streets – at least those people didn’t read Harper’s, The Atlantic or Poetry, a magazine of verse.

And frankly, it was a fair and refreshing ten year lay-off

then I came back and tried it again to find that the editors still had their heads up their asses and/ or etc. but I was up to 225 pounds rested and full of background music

ready to give it another shot in the dark.