I think of Whitman, Martin Luther King, the civil rights movement, the heady days of folk music as action, old Abe, troubadours like Dylan and others, of Miles and Trane, Pollock and the writers from the lonely cafe to Plath’s Bell jar, and the writer of the snow leopard , the Paris Review, the great poetic orators like Amiri Baraka to gentle Jim Harrison and those soul brothers and sisters at Motown and those down and dirty blues from Chess records and I wonder what happened. It seems America was just a dream. When you wake from your dream you are confronted with reality and reality is a real bitch that some people find hard to confront. They prefer the Hollywood dream where everything is coming up roses , and the reality of greater America is just a con by ad executives , it doesn’t exist; what does exist is an old man who needs to dye his hair black and under the lights a trickle of dye runs down his face as he exhorts the greatest fraud ever told, what does exist is the same old man outside a dildo shop ranting in a lost carpark, and we , well you because I’m not even American no the madness of this fraud, and yet, still it goes on. I know you’ve had some bad sons of bitches as President but now those same bad sons of bitches look pretty good next to the orange man. Even Nixon seems like a choir boy compared to orange man. And yet people love this man, this bizarre figure from the godfather movie. The man in the White House reminds me of Johnny Fontain in the Godfather. And when everything is falling apart Brando slaps Johnny across the face, you can act like a man he yells. I don’t see any men or women acting like their gender, it’s all too hard. I don’t know what the fuck happened. Maybe it was the coming of Bukowski, the master of sarcasm and wit. He just beat down on that mother fuckin universe. We need another Hank , another shit stirrer of magnificent absurdity.