Your last sentence is extraordinarly elipitical. It fails to note what happened between the conclusion of World War II and the entry of Greece into the European Communities (1981?), that being AMURUKU, a series of surreptitous interventions following the post-War British decampment that culminated in the American-backed “Regime of the Colonels”, of which I am absolutely certain you are aware.

Ever seen a movie titled “Z”. I’ll never forget that last line. It was the culmination of a list of “things” banned in Greece by the Regime of the Colonels. The list goes on and on. The last item banned is “THE LETTER “Z”"

I rose from my folding chair at the Stamp Student Union Theater and and shouted, again and again and again, ‘Z Z Z Z Z Z Z “.

I was alive then.

Tom

Remember no HM, no Beats, no Burrows, pehaps no Kesey. HM is the bridge from Whitman to 20th Centruy American Literautre. His originality was born of joy and suffering, hate where hate was due and love where love was ineluctable, and, always, he remained at extremes, where everything is thrown into stark, painful or joyful, relief. There was one writer of his caliber of his generation, a french fellow name of Celine.

I am not in the least surprised that Luc has found in Miller a brother. I cannot thinik of two more consanguinous piles of mad flesh.

Henry Miller won’t save your life. But, at least, you’ll find yourself lead by a writer who saved his own life. And that, of course, is our purpose here.

Have I interested you? THe best was to begin is with HM’s beginning: “The Tropic of Cancer”.

Tom Hoffman