Henry Miller by Ian Lewis Copestick

I remember being
14 years old
and first reading
Henry Miller.
” At last ! “, I thought
” Here is a man who
at least tried to tell the
truth, HIS truth.”
His writing was
inconsistent, at times
it was terrible, but at
last here was someone
SCREAMING, and to
me it sounded like
the most wonderful
music I’d ever heard.
A man turning his
body and soul inside
out, in an attempt to
tell you EVERYTHING.
His loves, hates, desires,
the whole fucking lot.
Yes, his writing is
far from flawless, but
I wholeheartedly admire
his bravery, his guts,
and yes his honesty.
Yes, his honesty.
IAN LEWIS