I know it’s presumptuous to say, because I’ve changed all the rules. I’ll be long dead before anyone takes a look at me as a writer. Doesn’t bother me.
Why? I always knew what I was doing, that I was running against the grain, and that I was the most gifted.
It’s a powerful thing knowing you’re the most gifted.
I wrote a book of simultaneous consciousness, one single moment of time that looked like an aeon. It was called The Boomer Bible. It had an Intercolumn Reference that put everything together at Time Zero. theboomerbible.com. The living links made everything happen at the same time. Except for the Punk Testament, which was dire.
But this massive work had feeders, sources, life outside the particular manuscript, couched in names at Instapunk.com like Loco Dantes, Gypsy Jackknife, Johnny Dodge, St. Nuke, the Shuteye Train, Boz Baker, Conrad Gatz, Alice Hate, Eliot Naughton, Thomas Naughton, Frank Frelinger, Insect Brain, Kobra Jones, Cadillac Mope, and multiple others under the rubric of punk writing.
I used absolutely every style of writing, from the Iliad to Shakespeare to Swinburne to multiple moderns, to tell the tale of a writing movement that existed only in the way Schroedinger’s Cat existed, not alive and not dead in a box. I placed them in a specific, very local history which has no memory of them.
I gave them a meaning for being, a technology for being, and a really bad attitude. Along the way, people chipped in with photographic evidence. A forum developed of people who did, wanted to, believe in the existence of the punk writers. They argued among themselves for years, and it changed their lives. Which, to me, meant the punks had existed for at least a quantum moment.
I didn’t stop there. I did a huge multimedia thing called Shuteye 1999. Then Shuteye Nation, which featured the first ever satire of Voltaire in Platonic dialogues. As well as a takedown of the New York Times, National Geographic, Travel & Leisure, and half a dozen other magazines. Not to mention columnists like Pete Hamel and Jimmy Breslin. Sneer, snark, and sarcasm.
There is no form of contemporary writing I haven’t jeered at. I did a Who’s Who, an American Gazetteer, a Foreign Gazetteer, a Glossary of politics, and a Glossary of Women.
I did funny, satirical, analytical, and in ten years of Instapunk, the most razor sharp political commentary ever. I was wrong a handful of times. Tell me the other times.
Actually, no form of writing from any age I can’t do. So. Rita. Can you finally say something nice about my way with words?
Not to mention ten years worth of commentary about Obama. About whom I was always, completely right.