so ill begin at the begin and say before id read kerouac ,books didnt have the impact they have on my life now.i read on the road,then devoured,big sir,the subteranneans,satori in paris ,dharma bums ...all in quick succession.he kept refrencing a writer named dostoyevski ,a russian from the 1800's,what the hell i thoughyt my dear friend jasa jawn gave me a copy of the idiot ,how apropo?.ha.and i was floored it was as if he was writing today except with alot of very hard to keep straight russian names,but he was impeccable 15 page monolouges,followed by a 25 page retort,it was hysterical yet so very,very brilliant.from their i read notes from underground a book descibed as shining a light into the deepest darkest reeceses of a mans heart,what a masterpiece,as ever i devoured his catalouge and moved on,this time to bukowski,i read ham on rye and it made me so sad and yet so connected,i read the whole book in one sitting as bukowskis like that,simple,but life is simple and the truth is simpler still,from their i have read every single piece of work he ever produced and other than the fact they are all worth your time,his swan song pulp were he writes about his own upcoming death is chilling andbeautiful..i must not forget to mention reading all of henry rollins cannon,although he comes across as a comedian these days their was little funny about the man who wrote pissing in the gene pool or ,the book that weighs a ton on my heart.see a grown man cry about his best friend being murdered in venice beach and them using rollins's art against him ,to try and frame him as the murderer,harrowing.thats a tiny portion ill write more on writers next post,but here lets lighten the mood with some chan marshall,...yea right
mark halliwell 2011
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