James Ellroy: Blood's a Rover audio
James Ellroy fan. Can’t help it. American Tabloid juiced me the disease. The public world as conspiracy. The JFK assassination. Mafioso. The Bay of Pigs Fiasco. Cuba dirty money and nothing else. L.A. Cops. FBI. No innocence. Hate and re-hate. We are all dumb rubes. Exotic prose. Un-prose. Re-prose. Kill the sentence dead. Zap the verbs. No adverbs. Shit out adjectives. Break and re-break all rules. Pureland of the Profane. Say what? Son Johnny Byrd sd if 10% is true, then we should walk out the front door and join a revolution. But in Blood’s a Rover, the cops change their spots. Waved little red flags. Morphed Tiger Cab. I didn’t read it but listened to a masterful unabridged recording. The master Craig Wasson and his many voices. 26 hours wandering around the streets of El Paso in my Subaru. The history of 60s & 70s 20th century America seen from the dark smelly and hairy end of the digestive tract—Herbert Hoover, Dick Nixon, Bebe Rebozo, Sonny Liston, Sal Mineo for god’s sake, Red Foxx, Howard Hughes as Prince Dracula. Wasson nails their voices. Never wavers. Emeralds and sex and voodoo. “That’s right, Baby Boy.” MLK assassins (feds and cops and peepers) go red. Guilt and shame. Cannot sleep. MLK fleshy truths dreams. Hoover wears the panties. The Red Goddess wants to have a baby. Beware Haitian voodoo black men with wings and automatic weapons. Hide and re-hide. Secrete and re-secrete. A meet and greet with Ellroy? No way. I think he’s busy scripting the narco-war in Mexico. His personal novel. Talks daily to Calderon and El Chapo on Skype. America doesn’t stand a chance. So, no, I don’t want to meet that man. But I’ll read his books. He’s the best.