The youth at night would have himself driven around the scream. It lay in the middle of the city gazing back at him with its heat and rosepools of flesh. Terrific lava shone on his soul. He would ride and stare.
“There is no literary elite in this country, unless it’s the corporate elite that runs the book business. It’s a totally different situation. What I’d say we have here is an underground that exists perennially, a steady kind of thing, and out of this movements occasionally arise and subside, but it’s always there. Whereas in France, especially, you have this series of avant-gardes which are, actually, nothing more than the cutting edge of bourgeois culture.“
Ronald Sukenick