but I know I've heard this kinda bullshit before:
what say the Iduali ?http://harlanellison.com/heboard/archiv ... 090706.htm" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;
HARLAN ELLISON
- Monday, June 22 2009 14:22:2
TO THE ANONYMOUS "GARY"
...who posted the unremittingly negative review of DREAMS from some equally anonymous doryphore, in hopes it would demoralize or pink me.
As I've said many times before, quoting (it was either John Simon or Gore Vidal, both acquaintances of mine, Ellison added, strictly to make the blogger "cringe" anew), "Well, if one seeks the approbation of monkeys..."
Or (Ellison added redux, just to sink the barb deeper) to quote William Blake from PROVERBS OF HELL, "Listen to the fool's reproach! it is a kingly title!"
If I had a dime for every spewing mudmouth who, at far less age than mine, and who has accomplished less in all those years despite his/her sophomoric arrogance than I have, in any given year beyond age nineteen (when I sold my first story), I would have WELL OVER $300,000. Apparently no matter how much good work you do, no matter how many Good Works you perform, no matter how large an impact you may have had on your times, because they are cranky nasty child-products of a shabby and narrow pop culture rife with the stench of me me me gimme gimme gimme...a venue that stinks of cultural amnesia salt&peppered with selfishness&rudeness...with the plopping into their ichor-dripping claws some electronic blabbering device, everything goes away. Or never existed. Or has grown too old and out-of-touch with THEIR grand fevers(notably heavymetal, Sanjaya, Micahel Bay Transformer FX, the scent of Paris Hilton's thong, MEtubeYOUtubeIpodWiisqueal) And all that counts to them, all of which they're even cognizant, is what happened to THEM...today.
Goodbye Bradbury. Goodbye Lieber. Goodbye Aeschylus. Goodbye Pliny the Elder. Goodbye Donald Westlake. Goodbye Faulkner and Harvey Swados and William March and Leigh Brackett. Goodbye Owen Wister. Goodbye Shirley Jackson. Goodbye all and every...for the sin of not being recognized by a jealous semiliterate jackalpak of craven wannabes do-nothings and toadstool-licking fanboys who have pudding for memory, dust for generosity, rust for respect. They who post as you would have me cry over, Gary; those who, fear the day their mommies and daddies pitch them out into the krewl krewl world wherein they must perform and not just snipe. A krewl krewl world in which your pissing and sniping at those who DO, those who HAVE DONE and WILL DO, is intolerable to true strugglers against the ignorance of your shallow observations. A krewl krewl world wherein I have made my mark, for good or ill; and yet...I'll be waiting for them, kris in hand.
The score, Gary, is ME: everything; YOU: no name at all.
Harlan Ellison