Journal # 03.20.15

I confess I hate T.S. Eliot for 'the Wasteland' . Now maybe the authorities will arrest me and throw me in jail with my stale jaundiced copy of Catcher In The Rye and my fuck you attitude toward the literary intelligentsia from the owner of city lights on down. I will not have my voice dismissed by a small faction of ivy-wrapped literature class tenure-burdened, ass pale from kisses, Madames and Misses. No way. Yes, Amazon is a jungle and a corporate monster with baby robots shuffling fulfillment orders through warehouses the size of Leichtenstein . But it was also founded as an online bookstore out of the garage of a man named Bezos in Bellevue, Washington. In 1996, a time when corporate bookstores had already begun mercilessly destroying the unique landscape of mom and pops in cities all across America. Now those corporate bookstores are getting their karma by Amazon putting them out of business. You can buy a book for a lot less money on Amazon. Of course, no one will ever come to consensus agreement on anything. Authors complain the price points on their books have been obliterated. Well, so what. I am an author and have gotten used to not making a living, writing. Still, I know I have a chance, just continuing to place quality product out there in the jungle. Because there are lots of kids with e-readers looking for something worth reading. I was in Chicago in 1996 when Amazon was still called 'cadabra.com' in its infancy. I lived in an apartment on top of a tiny bookstore owned and run by a holdout and alcoholic. He had inherited the business from his father, and was still pushing hardcovers out on the sidewalk every morning and talking to anyone and me about literature. Those days are mostly gone, though any good American city still has its holdouts and used booksellers. They might be a little worn for wear and even hard to talk to, what with the bitterness comes of draining an abscess. Still, I find it a joy to go in there and tell them I hate the fucking Wasteland and watch their eyes turn red on me. We can always come back in the end to smiles, in our mutual admiration society of  our beloved Catchers In the Rye.