UNDERGROUND WRITERS ARE BEING KILLED BY THIS SOCIETY
As if Steve Kostecke's death wasn't bad enough. . . .
I've just received word about two other great ULAers. (Underground Literary Alliance, which was a phenomenon from 2001 through 2007 but lately has been inactive.)
First, that poet Frank D. Walsh, a modern day Francois Villon, is living in a flophouse, I believe in New York City, and has lost or had stolen his precious cache of manuscripts. Unbelievably dynamic poems, some of the best written anywhere the past fifteen years. Most aren't anywhere online.
Second, young beat writer and carny performer Eric Broomfield, aka Jellyboy the Clown, who accompanied me on my walk into the Den of the Privileged during the ULA's 2006 Columbia University "Howl" protest, was trapped in a house fire in Queens. As of earlier this week he was on life support.
Unbelievable. I've been talking for years about the conditions in which many talented underground writers exist in this country. These latest incidents exemplify this.
As of now I have no other details, hospital, etc., but hope to attain some.
Terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible. . . .