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In this terrible year of living horribly, how comforting to return to the incomparably batshit bombastic H. Miller... My spirit drunk uncle, frenetically prancing about on the pages, expounding on this, remembering that, describing in ludicrous hyper-reality all that he feels, thinks, utters out loud, to himself or with others, about himself, others... Self-deprecating, revelatory, aggrandizing and loathing... often within the space of a paragraph.
How good to feel his 'vibrating lyre strings', his man(n)ic effusions, his Rabelaisian eye for detail - flaws, perfections and humor - within every contemptible human encounter.
How far above the others he soared! until the hot air inevitably left his sails, or the wings melted off, and it was back to work, scrounging and scrabbling for the next cup of coffee.
Ah yes, n Henry Millern... How good to spend time with you again.
How good to feel his 'vibrating lyre strings', his man(n)ic effusions, his Rabelaisian eye for detail - flaws, perfections and humor - within every contemptible human encounter.
How far above the others he soared! until the hot air inevitably left his sails, or the wings melted off, and it was back to work, scrounging and scrabbling for the next cup of coffee.
Ah yes, n Henry Millern... How good to spend time with you again.