Posted ByKunta Haley on October 20, 19101 at 10:48:47:
jesus could not get published today without wasting ten years getting 'accepted' and paying 'dues' and about fifty thousand dollars in 'venture capital' in the course of that same damn decade. jesus! because he eschewed money, jesus HATED money, it was his Achilles' Heel, his soft spot. he loved the poor, loved Art for that matter 9unorthodox, see?) but he HATED MONEY. I am only slightly less impractical, i know it takes money to get by in our decadent society, but greed?
is greed still good?
i thought we left those days behind with Ivan Boesky
so my gripe is with not the publishers, or even with the writers turned publishers who want to see their kind of books get attention. no my grim and legitimate BEEF is with the moneybag corporate manwhores who hate Art and love Industry. they won't do anything that won't earn them an unfair percentage, and i think that stinks! Henry in all his sagacity would be the first to agree with me.
That's why 'Cancer' is such a gem and why it was banned in so many places! It was a gob of pleghm in the face of such overprice and undertalented manwhores. They chase more great green hopefuls out of the field and into the restuarant trade than produce great works of art.
I am too angry with those arbeiters of style, those rich and undertalented critics of what will be called art and what will be discarded, and who! To oangry and that's my gripe. They are killing the novel as an art form, you know, and THAT should concern every writer worth his salt who posts on this forum, tahnks anyway.
When art is commodified to serve the dictatorship of the masses it ceases to become valuable to the individual. This is the failing of Marx and it's gonna be the failing of Supply-side capitalism as well. Please tell me I am bitter and go on record as being honest and factual, because my spleen is bursting with hatred for these so called purveyors of quality written enetertainment. so, uh, there.
anyway, this is a new age, and if the devilish fish who work in te big offices of industrialized litereature want to kill ten more Bukowskis with tiny paychecks and proken promises, well, hell will be half full with corporate suits and their rancid cohibas, so help me Mary.