"As if like the earth itself they had participated in all the cataclysms of nature..."

On his grand obsessional walks Henry Miller babbles on about this and that and blows his allowance on an superfluous battalion of sex workers. His claims to fame being mainly his instaprose and erect pose. I found moving his elegy to the dead of Brooklyn. And of course he influenced everyone. The world will go out like a Roman Candle. And we all have heard Kerouac say it. And he did pin humanity on the mindless hive charge. All and all a man to be reckoned with. His spiel features the driveling generalizations of a beleaguered relative and none of the buoyant tenderness of true ingenious improvisers of American prosody. But what the hell. I got to say that I could never get through a book of his. But what do I know. Problem is his porno is not too hot. Compared with the greats like Fernando de Rojas and the anonymous Apollinaire and Pierre Louys and later Joyce - nothing going. Also Henry Miller is the Blockbuster of writers. Plus his liberated sexuality is as lame as the fetishism of Mussolini, Hem labeled the biggest bluff in Europe. I always liked Anias Ninn. She can write. Who cares about their love triangle tho? I mean goddamn. Partigiani wear polkadot pantaloons. Henry Miller hated New York. His East Coast lays were lame. He worked as a Dostoyevskian clerk. I think he had a business card. I believe Fyodor paid him under the table. He ate a friends houses. He was a regular Freddie Freeloader Moose the Mooche. He wrote too much about this and nobody can read it. You read Sexus or worse Plexus. Henry Miller put down Bob Dylan as a ping pong player but not as a poet. He knew nothing of poetry. His tin man ear and Ron Burgundy heart are terrifically modern. Henry Miller only ran into automatons in America. Nobody there had any earthiness. They only wanted it in streetcars. Dodgers and lodgers and airconditioned codgers. Henry Miller wails Let us have more oceans,more upheavals, more wars, more holocausts. You better believe it. Ezra Pound tried to get Henry to write a pamphlet on money. You should read it, hilarious. Money and How It Gets That Way. Amazing! To walk in money through the night crowd, protected by money, lulled by money, dulled by money, the crowd itself a money, the breath money, no least single object anywhere that is not money. Money, money everywhere and still not enough! And then no money, or a little money, or less money, or more money but money always money. and if you have money, or you don't have money, it is the money that counts, and money makes money, but what makes money make money? Henry Miller pens an essay on Séraphîta by Honoré de and says he has not read it but digs it. Baad.