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.