Immaculate Conceptions

"The lady was ugly!"-- Wilkie Collins

Ms. Ellen Muth is not so insulated in the problems of celebrity that she couldn't reach back out, which she did, liking my tweet in my praise of her character. One small pleasure in a crippled writer's twilight. I quite unwittingly sent an anti-lesbian poem-- one which was once much larger and ambitious in scope, to a Peter Pan pixie faggot in a no nothing literary journal I decided to briefly grace with my attention. Old august potentates do that. Allen Ginsberg, a more mercurial fruit in his time, appears with me in Big Scream, which was also nothing, lithographed pages in a binder. [I could have met the celebrated beatnik with Jerry, and very conscientiously passed on the opportunity.] What game am I playing?

In the mechanism of not paying attention, just keeping busy, and if I accidentally blow torch a progressive anus along the way, provocative victory is salivating, as I am starving and desperately in need of an inhale, I am taking a risk, partially charged, running to the bank early, hoping the entitlement is there. Ravenous seems to induce hyper sexual restoration. Don't ask, but in thinking of Nick Denton doing what I didn't, I am fairly confident Michael Washington would have slept with me. I was burning; he knew it, and if I had kept a lid on it and he had fraternized with me over a drink, I would have become a human stain. Padre would have killed me while I was even in the process of drilling the mixed race fetus out of my vaginal cavity. The fuck of the century would have ruined my life.

But while I am here, a 19th century literature reader defended Collins as a sympathetic advocate of the impaired. It was a defense to my liking, made me reconsider Collins stature against Dickens. I hear the censorious roar of protest in my ears, but I simply cannot stomach Dickens, prefer his less illustrious contemporaries, and understand why Henry James made valiant efforts to undermine the prodigious Victorian novelist of Great Expectations, (The only Dickens work I like, though my Signet edition is misplaced).