Never-Was. The Underground Writer in Celebrity Culture.
I'm not Melville, I'm jack Kerouac, writing Vanity of Duluoz
in a tract house in St. Pete. His Greek relatives scheming to get
his estate. He died watching Graham Kerr on daytime television.
The Galloping Gourmet. Sex on horseback. Sex on the floor.
Sex a bad memory. I blew Gore Vidal. Perhaps he was bisexual.
When's the last time you invented a generation?
Proust was gay. At least, he was a sissy.
Melville was a manly-man. Hemingway.
I went ten rounds with Mr. Bukowski.
They awoke refreshed.
Jack has never met these people, and yet
he talks as if he knows them.