Burning bright

in essence, the generally accepted poetry today has a kind of glass outside to it, slick and sliding, and sunned down inside there is a joining of word to word in a rather metallic inhuman summation or semi-secret angle, this is a poetry for millionaires and fat men of leisure so it does get backing and it does survive because the secret is in that those who belong really belong and to hell with the rest, but the poetry is dull, very dull, so dull that the dullness is taken for hidden meaning - the meaning is hidden, all right, so well hidden that there isn't any meaning, but if YOU can't find it, you lack soul, sensitivity and so forth, so you BETTER FIND IT OR YOU DON'T BELONG. and if you don't find it, KEEP QUIET.

- Charles Bukowski

Into starlight.