I have to admit I'm puzzled over the way the demi-puppets embrace the rusted girders of the status quo lit-scene. They're like sunbathers remaining on a beach even when told a tsunami is coming. The ULA siren has sounded; the gigantic wave appears, yet they sit deliberately sipping cocktails on their lawnchairs and beach towels as if welded to them.
After the Deluge-- no more demi-puppets.
To me and to other ULAers it's obvious that American lit's role in the culture is dwindling and the art form is in bad need of change. It's obvious to any objective observer with a fondness for literature-- which is what I was in 1992 when I started my newsletter. From the outside I saw the gaping cracks in the walls of the crumbling castle; I noticed the structure's sinking foundations. I yelled and continue to yell, "Get out! Before it's too late!" The pretty but stupid aristocrats inside the walls are oblivious, continuing to nibble on cake and shrimp hors d'oeuvres. They don't see, hear, or notice anything.