In the land of myth and falsehood, actual veterinarians were fixed to say man's favorite scavenger, his dog, can be killed by a chicken bone, and the government went on and said to its tax payers, that after the first atom bomb the Japs would not give up, and the second atom bomb was necessary, and so the japs concluded to give up.

Ear1y in my sister's last visit to her parents, before her old anger with me reactivated, I had requested to her she read the Gore Vidal article in VANITY FAIR - all this before I heard of her FBI friend who "was there" at Ruby Ridge and Waco both. Before knowing said article would show her FBI friend to be ill and demented, I had cared for my sister to see bold Vida1's putting together pieces, after the correspondence with him Timothy McVeigh had initiated. I wanted this for my sister, information of our government's stupendous lack of good sense, but too of its collusiveness. Understand, Dear Reader, before knowing an FBI guy, Bonnie had no stock in any FBI. Before she went mad at me this time, I chanced to say that Vidal also spoke of the Japanese government's having sent overtures for surrender before the A-bombing. My sister who not long ago, past year was it, in a context I missed, crossly had informed me she knows "a lot of things" I don't, surprised me now, did amaze me. She said this is long known, why she has this book (since '68 or somewhere, I forget) this friend I met had given her, all about it, how the poor Japanese were trying to surrender. I went intrigued, obsessive, asking she lend me it. What grand lie the government can do to its ants regardless truth being available in the free society for individuals who want it.

Kelly visited the parents right after Bonnie returned to Los Angeles, and I was carrying on and Kelly surprised me that he was surprised I had not known this. He had thought we had discussed this, as in 1968 I met this teacher who taught him this in his major of political science at New Mexico State University. Astounded, I said, hell no, Kelly. If we had discussed this, how it was done to scare the Russians and whatever, I never caught on it is established the Japanese wished to surrender before the A-bombing. Clearly it was not militarily of value, but nor was the fire bombing, and maybe ten years ago I came to suddenly put it together, that as their navy got done in, in 1942 at the Battle of Midway, that as Japan produces no iron or oil, and their soldiers on their islands had to be eating rotten rice if they had any, rats with rice, Japan was long defeated, the fire bombing killing the civilians already more than would the atom bombs. Thus the decade ago in Austin I flashed what fantastic brain wash from the U.S. government. Damn, Kelly, why didn't you tell me this, so I could have dodged these idiot arguments, like with Packy or Mike. Well, Bill, I thought you knew - this is common knowledge at the universities, especially in the political science circles - the Japs had been begging to surrender, they were on their knees.

Respect for authority is the root of all evil. Soon as nomads do stop moving, and own property and pay taxes and cops and priests. Mike 0live's major was anthropology, yet the pulp fiction gobbler said to me: But how can we know there were no homo sapiens with poiice forces among the hunter/gatherers for 1OO,OOO years. I said, Mike, cops have to get paid. A camp of people could put up some authbrity during war or a great bison hunt, but use your common sense, cops have to get paid. No cops then nobody can make people follow orders. 0r, Dear Reader, I should say, respect for authority is the root of all modern evil. Barbarians may commit mayhem, but the less property the less authority the less mayhem. Mike was taught truly the hunter/gatherers are the most friendly and generous of cultures. If a human group wanders cheerfully without authority and taxes they will share what food is then with them. Comanches and Karankawas have been known to feed hungry Spaniards, when the Europeans approached nicely, without the arrogance of the Cross, before the shit got bad. White man plumb crazy.

As the ruled lose vision, they wish to like their rulers. Around that decade ago (re. LL somewhere) I arose one morning in the house in Aransas pass (come from Austin) and Mike (of Boulder) and B.E. were enjoying their coffee and Mike was calling Harry Truman "a good old boy," ever wanting to communicate with his father who is a solid Democrat. I went to sneering Truman was a gangster who A-bombed the Japanese civilians, probably before I had my own coffee, my expresso. B.E. naturally gets rabid, believes the bomb stopped the war before he in Marine Corps had to fight the Japs in the beach assaults. That morning I don't remember too well now, but since that point of my flashing upon the GRAND LIE, Mike and I have argued this a couple of times. Mike, like an instance over phone with Packy then, had thought to explain to me people have argued this for years so why bother. When I had persisted, it had become for Mike a contest, a mindless challenge. His favorite parry is telling me I do not read enough and what are my "sources." Disgust whelms me and I walk away in minor snarl every time. This last time, I had been within Mike's hearing, talking one day to Kelly, talking next day to Bix and Kelly, about the Japanese government's struggle to surrender, and I assumed Mike heard, twenty feet away in same building, across the bar in the kitchen turning on water or speedily jerking hither and thither always. But a day or two later Mike spoke about foreigners lack of ample reason to hate us except we are richer or stronger or whatever and I threw at him the 5000 dead in slow death per month Iraqi kids, as that one is ready at my hand of rage. Mike Olive pronounced I do not read enough and what are my sources. Before I stalked away I growled, hell, Mike, you don't know shit about what I read, like you were telling me what are my sources and I don't read enough, about the A-bombing of Japan, but all I or anybody had to do was put it together, the island of Japan did not have shit, they were starving, they were fire bombed, probably all the rice crops were burned. Bill, spoke he calmly: Those Japanese soldiers were known to fight like hell on some of those islands that were not even their homeland. Goddamn, Mike, what would the inhabitants of Japan have fought with? Bamboo sticks? Rocks, throw rocks? Fuck, man. Japan tried to surrender before the atom bombs, as Bonnie can tell you, as Kelly can tell you who was taught it in school. I hadn't even known they had tried to surrender, 1'd only used common sense because Japan had no navy and was cut off and starving but Bonnie read a book on this and Kelly was taught this in college. But you have been believing your gangster president Truman all this time who told you those Japanese cities were military targets.

~ Thus, DearReader, I witnessed, Mike Olive had never been interested in hearing any of this, between me and Bix and Kelly, but, now it registered. In his face I saw it. Next, incredibly, he went on debating hollow points. I could not hear, walking off, grumbling. Ah, tell it to Kelly. That lying gangster your president calling it of military value. Then I absorbed powerful surprise. Mike Olive is a crazy man. He said: In my opinion, using the atom bomb on Japan was of military value.

Dear Reader, my purpose is to never exaggerate. Never to ill form these personal sorrows, yet present them, with hope for their comedy. I do not know whether you may smile at this pain of mine above. My mind takes clouts.

I have zero politics, no patriotism, am purely outlaw. A11 babies are the same. There should be no borders of countries anywhere ever. For this, I am willing, any day I have not the flu or injury acting up, to fight any man on Earth mano a mano. Soon as I have my coffee and take a shit, no problemo. Any idiot, 300 lbs., 400 lbs. 0ne on one, knives, pistols, hatchets, because my nerves are steel. I will not fight ever for any ruler anywhere. I would hide in mountains. My fuss is about what the respect for authority does to human beings. To their means for thought, to their means for intuition, self knowledge.

Brother Mike did his service in the Air Force in intelligence in Japan, before he went to the university of California and studied anthropology. He learned to speak Russian and Japanese. Now days he will tell how they respected his advice and asked him to reinlist. Jackson Jones was as well in the Air Force in 1ntelligence, though toward the end of his term they kicked him out for insubordination. But to say, Mike Olive likes the Japanese. I say, the Japanese are like everybody else before fear gives birth to twists such as greed. Japan and the U.S. quarreling over the lands of others before Pearl Harbor. Somewhere last year or year before was it, Mike had declared something at me about the Japanese I would not accept. I do not recall, only that I dismissed it. He sald: Bill, I was there. I have become, always kind of cross to have to hear this. I was there. I was there in Vietnam. I was at Waco. I was in Berkeley in the sixties. There anywhere. A lot of people were there. A11 babies are the same. But, the ruled peoples of the Earth do not very well imagine the babies in those lands governed by men who do not agree with their governments. The human, adult mind ought to be better than this. Usually, the ruled adult human mind is no better than this. The ants here like for their government to bomb the ants there.

Brother Mike is intelligent and kind and he is an escapist. I am yet not sure the U.S. is killing Afghanistan civilians mainly by accident. What is the excuse for cluster bombs that killed Yugoslavian civilians. As is now widely understood, few soldiers or tanks were killed by bombs in Yugoslavia. Uncounted civilians on both sides were killed by U.S. cluster bombs. I heard the cluster bombs are colored, red, yellow. Many do not explode in the air and bounce on the ground and wait for kids. So I have heard. I hear they are being used in Afghanistan. I don't know. At this date the enemy soldiers in Afghanistan have not been forced into the open. What is this.

The guy running Israel is a Mussolini drunk. Given planes and tanks by the U.S. unto lizard lobotomy. The Muslim populations of either Saudi Arabia or Pakistan could easily toss away their effete governments. Pakistan has nuclear weaponry.

Red wine has become less comfortable. If maybe I should graduate to the twice as expensive. Mike 0live who prefers cookies and pies at most moments in his day, had a Guinness Extra Stout in the parents' refrigerator one weekend and asked I not drink it. I said I would never do such a thing because I drink sixpacks, and likely he but wanted his Guinness secure and missed further revelation. When that weekend went I returned to port Aransas drinking a sixpack of Guinness Extra Stout, was it good. Decent brew I cannot tire of. I was on wine for my weight. If wine helps a little, maybe only in it encourages flux. I keep laying up so much, for injuries lie down after painful workout. The layer of fat creeps over and each day I do the near hour of strength training I see the flab lessen a quart or so in the layer. But then like as not I drink alcohol, these days I have the dollars, and I must get nutrients, and to bed at night am fat as when I had arisen at least. I do always drop a quart in the night pissing but wonder had I a wild woman again might I lean.

The day begins with expresso and later I take in jalepenos or other chiles and have a large metabolism and have had occasional difficulty controlling the bowels. Even after the coffee's first bowel movement I have shit my pants on dog walk, out in this unnatural society, maybe once a year - I might see a bush to jump behind for quickie. But the wine drinking was making it more frequent. How do the Europeans manage. They do not combine all these chile peppers. Could I get my chiles in France, Spain?

Electric cousin Alexis came through again. She like two other great female cousins has survived cancer and appears as ever. One of these people comfortable in bars, she called from the Salty Dog around the corner. We had not jabbered face to face for a few years - a Leo/Aries/Leo she disrupts most of my sentences though intuits most of my information. I cannot leave the killer dog with Jim and Bob, Jim still has fear and Bob likes him but neither will stop him from getting outside, and I took truck with Medicine to the Salty Dog. In the day I had drunk chardonnay, white wine. The bar was uncrowded but my exposure and tolerance to chemical cigarettes is minimum these years and the bar was too cold on my summer skin. I bought a Dos Equis for three something and Alexis had a couple gin fizzes is it called, having a good time with a bunch of songs she had punched in, one of Janis Joplin, Get It While You Can I told her I've come to love Janis Joplin, that I nearly met her before she was famous. Alexis said she did meet her. If I got it right, Alexis said she kissed Janis as she came out of this swimming pool.

We bounced around on the terrorist subject but it was hard to get much linear from Alexis, whether she is particularly worried. Her mom Patricia was visiting an old friend in Port Aransas and Alexis had Patricia's little four wheeler, crammed with everything back of the front seat. She planned to go play her guitar on the beach and spend the night and write songs, she said. She kept breaking out in song to her selections, has a nice voice. I was unsure if I cared to toss my routine - I was begun on this LL - and accompany her on the beach, or if she preferred solitude. We went out to the truck and she met Medicine. She likes dogs. I let him jump out on the leash. We took our vehicles on around to the Brundrett house to have a smoke in my room. Alexis was too restless to take a chair, then Medicine in his schedule needed his turn around the block. After we did that Alexis could not find her wallet. I took fact I had lost off my wrist my little cheapo watch. The small wristband had been on its last notch and come undone. Alexis went through all the back of the vehicle in the street light of Oleander and Brundrett. I lent her a hundred dollar bill and she drove back to the bar in quest of her favorite wallet thick with all her stuff. Said she had just broken in this wallet. It was hard for her to accept this misfortune. Midnight at house, I turned off my light and maybe lay down and she returned, without wallet. She desired walking back around the block looking. We did this, knowing we would have caught her dropping the big wallet walking. She went to go play her guitar under a half moon on the beach, having me promise I would come there early with my expresso coffee, my little burner is behind my seat, to this safe park area between the jetties and the pier.

Sleep was hard to get, I did not know why, but which happens to me. Round five I rose and coffee and ham stretch and thirty neck bridges and thirty pushups, arthritic therapy I am working out as I go along these years, and I always take a shit. On way to the beach I found my watch in the parking lot of the Salty Dog where I had opened truck door for Medicine who has before caused me to lose my keys. We went to where we were to find Alexis but she was not there. Thinking she could turn up, I gave Medicine a short walk, seven thirty when there were few people around for him to frighten, but my whole routine was off, and my bowels bdgan to swell in my groin. There is a building with public restrooms but I should not take Medicine, besides he was already roudy because he was on the beach. We did get back to truck and to home in time to contain Medicine and blast bowels properly.

At about eight I called Patricia where she was and explained situation and how I'd lent Alexis $100 so maybe she returned to the bar and became distracted. Alexis had agreed to be meeting Patricia at nine. She better, said Patricia. I gave Medicine his bike through boat harbor expectation, where Alexis had actually been. We were shortly here when she drove up. It is funny, here is Bob on couch unconscious, day and night, like five years ago, only way she has ever seen him though she has spoken on phone with him. What had happened with her she got around to telling with cup of expresso, but first Jim got up babbling, stalks of his hair shooting sundry directions, and he was wearing suspenders. You boys need a woman's touch around here. Yeah, well it gets this way sometimes and then we do something about it blah blah blah. I was telling Billolive I had this dream I was in this orgy blah blah. At the Salty Dog Alexis had had a last drink and headed for the beach but saw this little place with live music and stopped in, where she met folks who have a yacht, had gone with them to the yacht and fallen asleep. She woke and went to the beach and barely missed me. Before she called Patricia, I informed her I had, that I had explained the situation. This annoyed Alexis. I agreed I am a blabber mouth. Patricia thought I did right. But, that evening, Medicine and I came in from his bigger bike trip and Robert said Alexis had called from Beeville (their town) to say she had her wallet. No word then on how she located it but my guess is it was under something in the vehicle, maybe had got stuck in there when she had located some pot. Robert said she said she would see me in a few days.



I received 2 letters from you today, both w/ $20 so that is all for 0ctober.

We would need to meet up somewhere if things got really bad. But I think things will be OK for awhile. Cynthia wants to grow more vegetables & buy lots of beans & rice & buy air masks.

The anthrax thing is crazy & mostly coming from Florida. A classmate of mine's mom opened a letter and white powder came out & police blocked off their home & 1think they did find some anthrax but I'm not sure if it was verified. Not a big threat though, just don't open mail you don't recognise. Or at least iron it first or stick it in a microwave, that works to kill the anthrax.

We have a new little puppy I got from my friend Sharda's. It has a little curly tail almost like Penelope's.

Anyways, I am going to buy a yearbook w/ the money from you. Write back.




Thanks for the $50.

I won't leave for Aransas without saying so ahead of time, OK.

There have been 10 cases of anthrax in Dixie County, but all have been fakes, just baby powder or dry wall dust.

Well, bad news, Amanda's mom, Beth, O.D.'d and died less than a week ago. We called Amanda (she's in Pittsburg with her real father) and she only seemed vengeful.

Anyways, T'11 talk to you later.



Morning of November 13 I listen how the Taliban have to forsake their rule of Afghanistan. I hate for women to have to be veiled. Few of Earth's cultures could I have lived in without complaint and maybe none of the modern ones. Could I have been wolf perhaps the last time, I have been in personal or simpler warrior-hood, outlaws or Comanches where if a remarkable woman presides she has protection personally, of kinsemen or lovers. Like the fabulous African woman in HEART OF DARKNESS, whose misfortune was she and company believed in Kurtz, who was hollow at the core. Ah, but again. -

"Whether he knew of this deficiency himself I can't say. I think the knowledge came to him at last - only at the very last. But the wilderness had found him out early, and had taken on him a terrible vengeance for the fantastic invasion. I think it had whispered to him things about himself which he did not know, things of which he had no conception till he took counsel with this great solitude - and the whisper had proved irristably fascinating. It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core...."

"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal."

These parts serve. Kurtz is so savagely unfullfilled he can't remember what he needs. Truth, compassion, extension, expansion. Human compassion is but expansion. Kurtz slaughters, for ivory, for control, for lust, but Kurtz starves, cut off, fixed. Com (with) passion (feeling). The poor devil is eloquent but he is lopped off.

Pretension our terrorism is better than theirs. Clinton is hollow, Bush and Binladin. Hollow citizens cheer their hollow leaders. Taliban on the run. We must control petroleum. We must control heroin. See, we drop them some lentils, for them what might stay where they are. A11 shall be well and regardless comes another U.S. father so gouged hollow he rapes his kid.

Being part wolf I did smell it. There is memory of looking through bushes at the human beings.

Gouged leaders calling one another evil. The Koran and Bible so related confuse people but arrive at the same. As they were compiled by men, and there is one arrival only. Early in Corinthians somebody is saying women ought to have their heads covered during prayer. Like fear of poosy, maybe they should not be flirting around. Then it is written that for these purposes women may have glorious long hair, but long hair on a man is a shame. Tell it to a Nordic Jesus. Tell it to an olden Comanche. See the NEW LIVITNG TRANSSLATION done by gouged wimps, the power of the beautiful, mystical ST. JAMES BIBLE is gone - there is great concern with fornication but not with slavery. This is some kind of shit, lobotomy. One near has to be a werewolf or olden Comanche to be incredulous nowadays. Barbarians from the north had whelmed matriarchies and set up God as angry old man. Few thousand years out of the past 1O0000 or so Com weeth me boeys I show you tight poesy.

Now some poosy can fuck a donkey or squeeze lemons or squirt tequila or pick up quarters. Let there be different kinds of poesy.

But when humans care, the arrival is the same.

Bob had bought the suspenders at Walmarts for Jim. He wore them less than a week I believe, said they were getting too tangled up. Sort of like I make this great pea soup with a chunk of salt pork in it, onion, garlic, black pepper, Bob gets some on a plate, tries to eat it with a fork, gets about half of it and puts plate in stinking sink - Jim gets out the salt pork in a little bowl, eats about half it, other half stinking on brown rat table which is overflowing with cans he hardly has room for a little bowl. Past couple of days Jim is only in his jockey underwear, so far we're still in mild tropics, till he sits in his busted porch swing, where his pants drag half off his jockey underwear. I advise he watch out for old ladies. It can be hard to catch his ear. He prefers to babble on, that he is not good enough for Hell and he is not good enough for Heaven. I try to say, for him to get to Hell, he has to do something mean, how he doesn't do shit. Today Jim splutters awfully in the busted swing and Bob is awake in his chair smoking cigars and reading in the sick books he gets piling up from the Billy Graham's multi-billion outfit he sends $100 a month to, TV off now but if we turned it on it wouldn't matter, the smell of insecticide stronger than cigars because Bob keeps a squirt can handy in case he sees a tree roach, the tree roaches come in and out like the brown rats. My door is closed. against pollution but last two weeks I've trapped 4 rats for gnawing loudly during my nights or for getting the dog food. Medicine does not care, the pitbull who usually does not bite possums, he never cares if a dog gets his dogfood. He only bites another male dog for sport. Anyway the point is, people world wide are disturbed in this fake spirituality. We can have in the United States the most crackpots or psychotics individuals, but all over is the phenomenon of people thinking others with different sects or religions go to Hell or should be shot. Hurry them along. 0r torture them. We all know U.S. cops and CIA have tortured people and I am now shocked last week seeing twice on TV whether it should be sanctioned, torture of terrorists. Would they expose other terrorists, or do tortured humans just say anything at all to stop their pain.

After putting it off for weeks or months I got down to seeking typos in THE EMERYVILLE WAR. In the case of THE EMERYVILLE WAR old manuscript, it had been too rough for Jackson to scan, and he had typed it. A11 his computer skills running he has been learning this past year. Except for the New york trip I had been in my writing routine, forward with LAST LAUGH. I had not cared to deviate, be seeking the errors in the body of my old works Jackson has put online. I exclaimed he has become a student of the Blackolive works and he agreed with that. we talked of how one turns blind trying to find all typos.

His instincts can be pretty good. He told me on phone he had put EW in without chapter numbers, that I may or not like it that way. EW is purely unaltered old LL, of computer printout coming to 59 pages. He had mailed me this batch of manuscripts back, that had gone online, sent their computer printouts, inclusive of TG book. EW is proper in this short story form and I saw that.

0ne evening I was rosy on Guinness and had not even any epistle to whip out to anyone I opened Jackson's printout of THE ENERYVILLE WAR and, it enchanted me. It is better than I had even known. Skimming then I came on one typo that needed to go first thing, said so to Jackson in a postcard. There is this street fight, where this lout got lucky and stunned me wtth two right hands as I had slipped off a curb to a knee. My recall of how it went has been fuzzy, particularly fuzzy when I wrote about it right after, but never was it fuzzy I had got him down on that curb on his back, no place on cement for his head to recoil. I had his right wrist in my left hand and a left nail of his dug a streak on my right wrist when I jerked it free to drive in his face. The typo was I had "probably" got him down on the curb, but there was never any such "probably," while a "probably" is elsewhere in the paragraph, a way these typos can occur. The man was near death, and his company saved him by taking my wallet. I jumped up for my wallet, had a $19, and they, and he, fled. Except for this one little crackhead whose new stolen untied tennis shoe I had snatched. The little crackhead and I were standing there disagreeing after I had poked on his person for my wallet. Very funny shit, he wanted his new sneaker.

THE EMERYVILLE WAR comes from title by Ann Vliet (re. EW for Ann Vliet) who before she vanished in some personal trouble had carved a bunch of LL into a four part novel, and THE EMERYVILLE WAR being part two. At the New Mexico cabin, is it two or three Xmases ago now, I had seen that THE EMERYVILLE WAR is tight with nothing at all taken out, a natural story, has some of plenty, sex, drugs, violence, human tragicomedy and modern shit and ancient shit. Suffering hero comes to town and envolves in fray against murderous rulers, great stuff. There are a couple typos on nearly every page but this is fun. I run through one third of it before I have to dash for the Aransas weekend.

Underground Literary Alliance


WELCOME! This is the mouthpiece of a dynamic and growing cultural movement. In it I'll bounce news and ideas at interested parties, and hope to receive feedback.
WHERE WE STAND. The U.L.A. is in good shape. We have great assets. First is our diverse array of talents, everything a movement needs: writers; critics; advocates; propagandists.
Second is our press kit, the best in the underground; one of the strongest in the American 1iterary world. This is the U.L.A. foundation, the rock which standing upon will enable the U.L.A. to achieve things.
Most of our accomplishments took place in a six-month period, from 10/1/2000 to 4/1/2001. Since then we've been kept alive by the momentum of that period. It's time to create new momentum.
CURRENT EVENTS. We're in better shape than before 9/11. Yes, the prospects for publicity in NYC have become limited, given the avalanche of news about the WTC and the war. But, the publishing world as a whole took a hit. The, thinking of the nation has changed. Irony is dead. Postmodernism and its proponents appear ridiculous. Opportunities abound for a new movement.
SEA CHANGE. We are in the midst of a change regarding the training of writers, based on the defensiveness and embarrassment of our opponents. Having a MFA in writing will if anything become a stigma. The more favored credential will be to have written a zine.
CLUELESSNESS. The problem with writing programs is not just that they train people how to appreciate the products of such programs (the actual intent, without which there'd be no audience for the bloodless works). The bigger problem is that, in so being trained "how to read," the graduates then encounter every piece of writing through the warped prism of their brainwashing. This causes them to dismiss unorthodox writing~~writing outside the lines--for being "vulgar" or "rough" because it hasn't been pushed into a standard form and refined into nothingness. This attitude allows little room for creativity, only endless recycling of versions of workshop crap. "Literary" stories are interchangeable and unoriginal. The U.L.A. will break this ideological monopoly.
IDEAS. Our ideas are our greatest strength. They're the reason why we don't need connections or vast sums of money to make this project work. No one can stand against our ideas. The more we push the rightness of our cause, the greater success we'll have. Already, non-U.L.A. posts on alt.zines are informed by our arguments. The same will hold true in all forums in which we appear. When underground writers break onto the national scene for real, when they achieve widespread consciousness, establishment writing will be obsolete.
THE WEAKNESS OF OUR OPPONENTS. I recently prodded a NYC writer to stand up for Jon Franzen, whose work he admires. (Franzen is being destroyed by the media over a disagreement with TV personality Oprah.) The NYC writer said, "Oh, he'll be alright." The message given: that the literary elite are unwilling to fight for one of their own. We'll find this out when we again turn Rick Moody into shredded wheat.
CAMPAIGNS. Michael Jackman and I have planned a new campaign against Moody for sitting on a NEA award panel. The guy has no sense of propriety. Michael has designed two dynamite promos about the matter. The campaign will be very effective. We thank Jack Saunders for first bringing the issue to public attention on his entertaining website, ALSO: The "Wet Firecracker" campaign against the award to McSweeney's for best zine is ongoing.
We also continue looking for a literary group in NYC willing to publicly debate the U.L.A. I'll keep pushing for this. When one pushes, opportunities are created. (How did we get George Plimpton to our press conference? How did we get the big Voice article? This didn't happen by accident. George didn't happen to be walking by CBGB's Gallery that day and decide to have a look. Nothing in this world is accomplished without work.)
SHOWS. I'm struggling to set up an event, either in NYC or Baltimore.
PUBLICATIONS. The U.L.A. journal, Slush Pile, is still available. $5. Also available at the U.L.A. address Michael Jackman's Firecracker Coalition Wet Firecracker protest zine--two stamps--and my newly reissued New Philistine Extra, which presents basic U.L.A. strategy. $1 for that. ORDERING INFO about other great publications that discuss the U.L.A., or are produced by U.L.A. members and supporters; Mike's Inspector 18; Steve Kostecke's wild latest, Third World Blues; Doug Bassett's review zine The Game; Joe Smith's The Die; Owen Thomas' Indy Unleashed (which reviews Slush Pile); my War Hysteria! and Detroit River Stories; and many more (yes, even the "other" U.L.A. journal) can be obtained by e-mailing me.
HONORS!!! Tom Hendricks has inducted the U.L.A. into the prestigious Zine Hall of Fame. Thanks, Tom! Given Tom's staunch reputation as one who has battled arts corruption for years, we're highly honored. To read about the award send $1 to Musea, 4000 Hawthorne #5, Dallas TX 75219. Specify #104. (Is that the U.L.A. on the cover?)
KUDOS. To Michael Jackman and Jeff Potter, for enabling the U.L.A. to achieve a big victory over its inept opponents in a debate that spread over three "Interaction" threads on the on-line magazine
NEW TERRITORY. The U.L.A. alienates the timid, because it has left the safety of the shore and sails ambitiously into unexplored areas. A QUOTE (from Charles VanDoren): "Columbus's monomaniacal certainty that he was right about the things that were most important to him brought him much success. His certainty was such that many were interested; they believed that a man so lacking in doubts must be right."
FINALLY, I've thought a great deal about the odds against us, the odds that have always been against us. The way to make this movement succeed is to be optimistic about its success. Others will believe in this vibrant and necessary literary movement if we believe in it. I refuse to accept that the crusade we've begun will not carry through with bigger victories than those achieved. We made great progress with modest effort. If we're coordinated and positive about what we do, the goals will be easily made.
KING WENCLAS, U.L.A., P.O. Box 42077, Philadelphia PA 19101.

U.L.A. News

Issue #1