impostors and hangers on

Jade wasn't too happy about me showing up at the door - it wasn't consignment day - bringing your books into the famous shop is like showing up at the welfare office on the 15th of the month. The Ferlinghetti boutique is the American version of Shakespeare & Company - a museum staffed by literary majors, and the same rules as the church. You're allowed to depict men being crucified, but don't speak when the priest is giving his homily. TS Eliot is a fascist ergo, don't have to read him.

The place has a few decent photos of Ginsberg and the boys, a Bukowski poster, it's even got books. But, not mine, it was too well bound to be a chapbook, and it's not a zine, so the only way is to go through the distributors - being a writer these days is like being a pitbull taken out for a walk - sixty different ways of getting muzzled.

The bitch at the front desk spent her time apologizing to Jade for bringing her to the front desk on a non consignment day. It was all pretty reminiscent of that old lecher George at Shakespeare & Company, even past age eighty, he was reeling in the pussy on the dreams of literary glory and grotesque. Goes to show - you can be a toothless sturgeon and still bring it in, if you're making the right noises. But what does it have to do with writing?