<<God, how embarrassment. Maybe I was too young when I
encountered all these people everyone's having a good laugh
over but I actually liked the stuff I was exposed to
...>>
I think we're all laughing at ourselves. Why do you think
I
*still* have those dusty LPs by The Electric Prunes and The
Peanut Butter Conspiracy? And they're not going to the
donation pile or to the yard sale box...
The thing with literature is how the memories age badly. I
had read Selby years ago, which is the reason I had Exit, and
I had thought he was pretty cool. Pretty weird but cool,
authentic. Today, I simply find him unreadable. Something
about the Beats and the post-Beats made their stuff fragile.
Some great poems will remain, but for the most part the prose
was vile. These days, I have trouble with people who show off
style, unless the substance is commensurate with the
grandiloquence, pretentiousness, experimentality (!),
etc.
In the sixties, everybody talked about Relevance, but for the
life of me I cannot see the relevance of logorrhea. And one
can be authentic while keeping a low profile.
Regards,
MrT
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