he’s probably ripping and tearing in hell right now…

the old man had been famous for a long time, he had stopped
writing and gotten into painting, he’d gone through some
wives and was into secretaries, he went through secretaries
fast, he kept putting ads in the local college papers for
secretaries, he asked to paint them in the
nude.
he   was a fucker.
he chased them around the room, caught some of them, he
knew he   was near death, and working out with young
girls
gave him a feeling of getting near the Fountain of
Youth.
some of the girls wanted to get into his
will; over wine he made some half-
ass promises
but
the girls never saw anything in
writing, he had stopped writing, he was painting, he
painted them with the end of his
cock, he was a hardy old
boy but death came anyhow.

I never met him
but he wrote me a letter once, he told me not to
drink so
much
that drinking destroyed the creative
impulse.

why
that old
son of a bitch, he wanted all
the fun for
himself!

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