Currently, Sonya Chung, one of my best buddies, and I are in disagreement.

It wants every word, all the lingo: idioms and euphemisms, sacred or profane, dead or alive, the King’s English or the street’s.

I've just about got those bastards memorized by now.

At that point, I had been out of the writing life for so long that I had felt like that life was dead to me, so that fellowship meant everything.

1.
Okay, this is going to be a tricky one. For a few months now, I’ve wanted to write about William Logan for my little website, but two questions stopped me. First, Who am I? And, second, Who really cares?

If each foot took us back a year,
the dark below would be
immaculate...

I wish, because, dude, that sounds awesome.

Tourist man: Pardon me, officer, can you tell us where Orchard Street is?
Cop: See that naked Chinese guy?
Tourist man: Ummm...Yeah.
Cop: Walk down to him and make a left.

"I just—Christ, I just need a goddamn minute, you know?" he said.

I think the poem’s pretty hot, probably the best poem in the English language since “Song of Myself.”