Well, okay, maybe it’s my argument: What’s this discomfort with the vulgar, anyway?

Maybe I’m just not part of the establishment—not welcome there—and this is part of the alienation I feel, I don’t know.

But isn’t it true that on many levels “literature” is elitist? Not of (or for) the people: the struggling lower classes and near-drowning/about-to-hang-themselves blue-collar types?

Ask yourselves: In defining literature (what gets said and what doesn’t, what gets published [and promoted] and what doesn’t) is it about education and refinement—or is it about class?

Part of my fascination with “low brow” art, with sexploitation and exploitation is the fun of it. The disorienting immediacy of it. The ugliness and strange honesty of it. Sometimes even the stupidity of it.

So what’s the big deal?

Aside from the fringe-published work of Henry Miller and Charles Bukowski, a cunt is never called a cunt in literature. A cock is never a cock. A twat is never a twat.

And why the fuck not?

Yes, people are vulgar. Fucking right they are.

Yes, people are emotional, too. Reckless and LOUD. Not “restrained”—as many self-appointed guardians of literary taste would like to pretend or have us believe.

I’m sorry that so many in this community are in such denial.

Stop trying to undermine and discredit those who won’t go along.

Your “standard of excellence” may not be mine, got it?

Language is language, be it from a University or the gutter. Crudity and the vulgar exist in life.

Isn't art about freedom? And shouldn't everyone be represented?