Newsbreak!: Torquemada wins (but he should consider taking weekend evenings off to get some fresh air)!!! I recognize the one, holy, catholic & apostolic church, and all of its findings against me to be true. They are, as follows:

1. The Underground Literary Alliance are kindhearted innocents, maligned by all critics without cause. They are the light and the way, the truth in a world of darkness, and to deny them is to risk your eternal soul (and any chance of having your avant-garde short story about how much homework sucks being posted on their website).

2. The distaste the ULA generates in pretty much anyone that isn’t actually a member, regardless of taste in writing or feelings about underground literature and contemporary publishing is not the fault of the organization, but is rather the result of a satanic conspiracy originating in Little, Brown, & Co. think tanks and Rick Moody’s wine cellar.

3. If you were dying of thirst, and McSweeney’s had a bottle of water, they’d drink it in front of you while they watched you die.

4. If you have to ask which is worse for humanity—every case in the sex crimes division of your nearest major city, or Frank Walsh’s inability to be published—you’re a counterrevolutionary.

5. Masked Perfessers and zanily messed-up clowns are really funny or whatever.

6. Most importantly, I have no role in declaring or determining my own identity. It’s kind of like being in Cambodia in the late 70s, except it’s all really stupid and nobody died.

These confessions were given under the duress of torture, sure, but even so please take them for what they are. On the one hand, Mssr. Hall is the one who in reality has to take all the flack, and on the other hand, he can’t say I’ve ever tried to pawn myself off as him. I tried, Timmy, don't sue. But don’t thank me too profusely, I still like your stories as much anything J.D. Finch had his elder assistance nurse transcribe.

The funniest part of my Big Lie is that I could have commented originally with an alias—like, I dunno, Chillie Timmy or something—but I decided to face my fears of mobland style retribution and use my own name. Or, I didn’t. Whatever you say. As I said, Torquemada won, and I do mean that, sincerely. I surrender without conditions to your will. And I once thought the ULA was not a force to be reckoned with.

As this “non-ULA member” does not fancy me enough to speak to me directly in this open forum, our heartwarming Abelard & Heloise saga may continue. Although, to my knowledge, in none of Abelard’s letters did he invite Heloise to shove anything up her ass (twice!). In any event, perhaps when The Non-ULA Member gives a breakdown of DNA comparisons we’ll revisit him, but now, back to the matter at hand.

I feel badly I have not been giving my undivided attention to the true mission of this blog: speaking truth to lack of power. In the time I’ve been spending on this, the ULA have produced several masterpieces on the back of the restraining order Jon Franzen’s lawyer sent over.

PS: ULA Fun Fact: Did you know Karl once spoke to Paris Review employees? In New York? About how he felt about stuff? As for me, I once saw Richard Dreyfus in a mall. He looked old.

PPS: ULA Serious Fact: The ULA in no way endorses self-aggrandizing namedrops of any kind, as a “balls to the wall” (I think Karl said that, but it might have been a line from Major League: Back to the Minors) radical organization, dedicated to being awful mean to Atlantic Monthly coffee-getters since 1830 or last week or something.

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The Indefatigable One: "Bryan Guski," shut the fuck up.

Eh, nah.

Ladies & gentleman, I present to you the Underground Literary Alliance, that band of uber-democratic, bottom-up, free 'n easy troublemakers who don't want any troublemakin' or public scrutiny of any kind. Y'see, it only works when they can lash out at those they dislike with impunity. It's not fun, otherwise. After they finish marking McSweeney's and mousy New Yorker interns as the harbinger of Satan's presence on earth, if anyone dares to say anything about their worthless writing, they plop down, pout, and sniffle: "Why me? I'm the sympathetic underdog!"

Lack of any discernable talent, of course, making one the ultimate underdog, I suppose, so at least they got that part right.

I did speak too soon, after all. The Protector of Righteousness & Virginal Innocence (note: that's the ULA, got it?) is back in business, and back in a big way. It's a wonderful thing, really, to see this human(?? It could also be randomly generated computer code...) bulwark stand in the path of the oncoming train of malice known as all criticism of the fragile-hearted ULA. Much like General Wolfe, dying on the Plains of Abraham, Charlie hopes to someday lie, his military sash spattered with his own blood, with arm outstretched towards the heavens, and proclaim: "That I should die, to protect each and every tooth Jeff Potter has left."

Too dramatic? Eh, Charlie may also be just some dude bloggin' about mysteries 'n junk.

But his return has come in glory, at least. His Hardy Boy caper has been declared closed, and my true identity, which could not possibly be what I say it is, has been revealed, for ever and all time. I'm sure Charlie will continue to try to put the pieces together (hint: Tim & "I" (Tim) both use "the," "as," "to," and "is," very frequently and in a similar manner (English sentences!)). But as long as I can remember not to leave my Jersey City travel books at any restaurants that Charlie's trying to get my saliva samples at, perhaps I can evade capture a little longer. I'll keep the cyanide pills handy, though.

There is one little item I would like to clear up, however. I haven't done any "gay baiting." Sure, I told Chilly to stop checking the mail for his naked Tim Hall/Karl Wenclas pictures, but that's only because those particular photos are a crime against nature and God Himself be you man, woman, or both. Personally, as "Chilly Charlie" is a pseudonym, I should confess I've always thought of you more of a sexless spirit, floating between dimensions, unbridled by the constraints of time and space. Sexless spirits can't be straight or gay. Sorry, it's science. My hands are tied.

And now, for a couple ULA-related Quick Hits!

(a.) For those of you who didn't get to catch Frank Walsh's radio performance--1.) it's on the internet if you're interested, 2.) You're not interested--let me sum it up for you. As always, a ULA member comes across as a pompous ass out of their league (as hard as it may be to be out of your league with mild-mannered literary public radio hosts). Pretentious language + no point + worst and worst received Reagan impression/joke ever = the complete defeat of Columbia. I hear they bequeathed their entire endowment to Slush Pile on their death bed.

(b.) Despite the ULA's constant attempt to tell you what is and isn't quality writing despite whatever your faculties and critical reasoning tell you, their latest, uh, "comedic" antics are as unfunny as ever. Awhile back, I saw a ULA-related tour video where Wred-Fright-or-something broke out his wrestler persona on one of the stops. Perhaps it doesn't come across well in video (which I'm sure would be Wenclas's defense)? Perhaps. But the telltale sign is the bewildered indifference of the audience...and, as they showed up for the show, you'd figure they'd be sympathetic.

Then there's the Masked Perfesser. 'Nough said. Although Walsh's pseudo-intellectual explanation of this tired, unfunny, and unoriginal creation during his radio interview is worth the price of admission.

And finally, there's the clown show that was part of the Columbia protest. Nothing like Howard Stern/In Living Color late-80's derived bits to show your fresh, original perspective.

Fucked up clowns aren't funny. That script's was already flipped a long, long time ago. They're certainly not original. Of course, Karl would say not finding his pawnbroker/boxing promoter shlocky shtick funny is a result of being an ivory-tower type who can't understand that the people (hoi polloi!!) are aching--aching--for "rabble-rousing no-holds-barred P.T. Barnum showmanship" or whatever other bullshit line Wenclas dredges up to convince himself he's talented. It is a discredit and a disservice to the people themselves that no one is interested in his played out garbage. If the ULA's "protest" of a boring academic event was really a "success"? Sell more books, jackass. Tick, tick, tick. I'm waiting. Otherwise, ultimately, what's the point of this shit?

But I say this all with love, of course, as always.

Far too early to say, but it appears The Grand Inquisitor may have retired. I hope the Bloggin' Revolutionareez!(tm) offered a generous golden parachute. Perhaps some J.D. Finch to wallpaper your basement?

I understand the unchallenged echo chamber is more fun, but I would consider sticking to watching Tim Hall's disaffected-hipster-drunk chef d'oeuvre plummet at Amazon, it suits you far better anyway. And seeing those numbers posted without additional comment makes for better reading than anything Karl Wenclas ever scribbled on his hospital gown.

With love, of course, as always, BG

My dear, dear friend is at it again. Unlike his "I don't believe we ever landed men on the moon" website, I allow comments from anyone, so I'm not entirely sure why he felt the need to ask me questions on his. But I'll oblige, because he needs this. He really does. Although, Mr. Charlie, it's not polite to masturbate about Tim Hall conspiracy theories until the sun goes down. Fair warning.

Re: Tim Hall. Why do I care that you think I'm him? I don't, really. I think it's funny. I find it amusing that you must think the ULA is so terrifying and intimidating that I, or any other person, for that matter, would need to go through hoops to throw people off the trail. "I'm Tim Hall! Oh shit, they're coming for me! Time to buy a fake passport and burn my fingerprints off...I'm Bryan Guski! Thank goodness, that was a close one. I almost had to hear another Wenclas story about the Ontario border, and I hear that's fatal."

So, "Chillie" (the true example of how to live with your own actual identity), you can combine every single person who thinks the ULA is ignorant, bitter bullshit into one single entity. You can think every person who knows of them and find them to be worthless is some person who only has a personal grudge against them. Bryan Guski, Tim Hall, A. Swift, and all of those other people who have posted under one name or another about how much this so-called organization sucks, can all be Tim Hall. I don't give a shit, because the ULA isn't important enough to waste much time making the distinction beyond what I already have.

Personally, my only reason for feeling insulted at all is that (a.) Tim Hall is a shitty writer and (b.) much like Michael Grover, he is and always will be a ULA-guy in spirit. Dumb, mean assholes with a fundamental misunderstanding of what readers want to see (those who don't like Moody (like me!) don't HAVE to find ULA/Tim Hall/Mike Grover writing worthwhile...they may even find it painfully bad (like me!). But I guess, in the minds of guys like that, not liking writing worthy of middle-school writing exercises would make me a counter-revolutionary. It's borgeois to want something, oh, interesting. Or requiring talent. Or worth the ten minutes it takes to read a Wenclas, Potter, Finch, Grover, or Hall, uh, "masterpiece." So, they're all the ULA to me, which is why I prefer not to be confused with any of them. The fact that Grover/Hall happen not to get along with the rest of the crew doesn't do much to redeem them, I'm afraid. They're all the same. But whatever you want, sweetheart, this is the last post I'll deal with that particular issue.

The Underground Literary Alliance is not the CIA, FBI, NSA...they're not even the AARP (even if most of the big wigs are members). Nobody's scared of them. Pretending to be someone else, while fine (because this issue CAN'T be taken seriously), is a waste of time. I've explained in my first post how the "secret-conversation-that-no-one-could-possibly-know-about" between Karl and the New Criterion editor was published in full on the fucking New Criterion weblog. I'm sorry if that tears to shreds the pile of evidence you've collected by finding Navajo code in People Magazine articles, but it happens to be true. You can even scroll down to the first post to see the links directly to the material I'm talking about, but I'm afraid your brain might implode if you actually did.

About Time Out New York? Let me walk you through this, "Charlie." It may be difficult to follow. Make sure to not check the mail every 5 seconds for those nude pictures of Tim Hall and Karl Wenclas, and concentrate.

THE TIME OUT NEW YORK MYSTERY IN SEVERAL EASY STEPS:

1. I am in my late twenties.
2. I learned to read between the ages of 5 and 6.
3. Time Out New York is published for public consumption.
4. Published material, on occassion, is something the public is aware of.
5. Karl Wenclas's weblog does not require a Tim-Hall-A.-Swift-registration code to read.
6. I read Karl's website, and saw what he and A. Swift said about Time Out New York.
7. I agreed with what A. Swift said, because I know what Time Out New York is.
8. I decided that, despite my terror at being accused of being the (gasp!) same mastermind criminal as the original commenter, I would say out loud that I agreed with A. Swift.
9. I, uh, commented on it.
10. I burned my fingerprints off and got plastic surgery, because Karl and Charlie were on the trail. The geniuses.

That is the mystery.

Charlie, you're probably my favorite of all these guys. I think I might love you, actually. Your close examination of word choices, posting histories, links...the fact that you dedicated a weblog to me during a, I dunno, 7 or 8 month period when I didn't even read any of the ULA bullshit or comment on it here or anywhere. It takes a certain kind of pathetic dedication. Not even Wenclas could handle that...even he moved on to "Dispatches from Planet Zytron" or something after a month or two. In case you missed it, it was these, y'know, dispatches from, y'know, Planet Zytron (I think it was a expertly disguised earth....shhhh!). And, of course, as you know, it was brilliant.

Charles, an independent defender of all that is right and holy in the world, one who fights for all that makes the sun rise and that allows a righteous, moral order to reign over mankind... that's the ULA and Karl Wenclas (peace be upon him), in case, you know, that sounds fucking insane and you couldn't guess it. Guardian at the Gate, Chilly Charlie, I salute your bravery in facing down this "lit castle" conspiracy. Personally, I nominate you for "Zeen Elvis."

I feel I haven't done enough for you yet, however. So, I'll give you the two things you need and love most: links and conspiracy confirmation. Bully. Bully. Bully. Narcissist. Narcissist. Narcissist. Bully narcissist. Bully! Narcissist! TIM HALL!

But, for the record, despite my desire to help you out, I won't be shoving any tin foil hats up my ass, because, as you probably know, that would be moderately uncomfortable.

Karl Wenclas's cult of personality, ocassionally referred to as the ULA, really shows its true colors when it comes to dealing with former members and associates.

Of course, becoming a "former member" is inevitable for most people, except for the "inner circle" (a small collection of mothball-breathing geriatrics). Even if your intelligence is questionable--which would be true of any person to join this group--there comes a point when enough of the synapses fire, and you realize how worthless it is. Even if you only have the most selfish of interest in the group--"what can hooking up with these no-talents do for me?"--there comes a point (usually nearly instantaneous) when you realize: "Wait! Forget 'what can they do for me,' they can't do ANYTHING!"

So leaving the group at some point is pretty much assured. Two of their favorite targets are Noah Cicero & Tim Hall. In all fairness, I've never read anything by Noah Cicero (except for one brief piece on the ULA website, when he was in it, which I believe was already over with by the time I found out about the group...), and as for Tim Hall (who, according to my dear friend, I actually am), well, I can see why the ULA took him. Suffice it to say, I don't enjoy his writing. Setting hip, jaded, nihilistic fiction in Williamsburg is pretty much anathema to me. But no major offense meant, as despising ULA lowlifes is a somewhat sympathetic quality, I suppose. Although sadly, it doesn't really help your writing, nor does it excuse the fact you used to be in on it.

Anyway, as it was during last summer that I first stumbled upon the ULA, I witnessed first hand the transformation in Wenclas when speaking about Cicero & Hall. His rhetoric was effusive at first (I believe one of the two of them, most likely Cicero was a candidate for Wenclas's brilliant "Zeen Elvis" idea).

Hold on a second. Sorry to interrupt. "ZEEN ELVIS." Jesus Christ. Karl, you're an idiot.

And the same went for Tim Hall. Bright shining stars in the ULA universe one moment...and then, when they left...all of a sudden they were talentless, worthless writers. The King defended these guys as if they were the quintessential examples of what the "lit castle" was not letting, um, over the drawbridge or up the ramparts or whatever castle metaphor Wenclas would use and consider brilliant. But these were the writers the American reading public NEEDED to see, if only they weren't being robbed of that by a nefarious conspiracy hatched by Rick Moody, Media Bistro and George Plimpton's corpse.

When they opted out? Suddenly, not only were they traitorous dogs, but, eh, they weren't really any good at writing fiction, after all. I suppose somehow, when their hearts darkened, and they had forsaken their lord Wenclas, his majestic power travelled backwards through space and time to transform their once ethereal prose into clunky, worthless drivel. Either that, or Wenclas has a pawnbroker's penchant for bullshit slinging: when he's got a watch to sell you, it's a Rolex, when you've got one to sell him, it's a fake. When these two guys were out of his possession, were no long sanctifying his name, what they had was no longer gold-plated, but tin. Funny how that works.

But this is ancient history, of course. Most of this change in Wenclas's rhetoric was a monologue on his blog with no input from THE CURSED ONES. Whatever revelatory conversations may have occurred between Karl (Peace Be Upon Him) and Those Who Shall Not Be Named was behind the scenes.

But now we see it again. This time with Michael Grover--never a ULA member, apparently, but a hanger on and someone Karl sang the praises of many times. How do I know? Because I spent a good deal of time pointing out the fact that Michael Grover, as a poet, well, sucks.

But a year ago, from the mouth of Wenclas: he's dynamic. He's incredible. He's what true, organic, from the streets poetry is. You must not have heard him READ (at that time, I hadn't). I happen to be of the opinion that an unmistakably awful piece of writing doesn't become genius simply because it's performed, but no matter. I have since (sort-of) heard Grover read (on his website in an audio file and in the video of ULA's big-bust-in-Philly last summer). And it still sucks. The funny thing is, not only does this nobody think he's got a bit of talent, but he thinks he's one of the greatest poets, like, ever.

So, Grover has grown tired of Wenclas. I wish I could say I now sympathize with him, but unlike other people who have learned to turn their back on Wenclas, I have a feeling Mr. Grover is pretty much cut from the same cloth (although with no aspirations to lead a bullshit organization). But what has been going on over at The King's blog has been quite amusing. In the comments section (well, before it was shut down to end Karl's embarrassment) a fight broke out between Michael, Karl and some other ULA asshole. Laid bare, out in the open, for all to see, was what happens to Karl when someone realize he's a worthless pawnshop broker.

All of a sudden, after so staunchly defending MDG when I pointed out how crappy his poetic output was, Wenclas is in agreement. "You're okay, Mike, when you practice" or something to that effect.

One of many reasons the ULA is such a waste of time: even their leader, when the cards are on the table admits those who he advertises as the future of literature are unremarkable, or even poor writers. The key, of course, to the mask being lifted, is for Karl to feel betrayed. Then, he says what everyone who reads this shit already knows: there's nothing there worth remembering.

Introduction

Karl Wenclas has once again disallowed comments on his blog, the personal fiefdom of the Lord High Protector of stapled & photocopied writing on why trucks crossing the Detroit/Windsor border is interesting and Rick Moody sucks.

It's always the same old shit with his highness, Wenclas. Contrary opinions are always deemed "anonymous hate" because no one who thinks the ULA is full of shit could possibly be who they say they are. That's an easy way to pretend you have no opposition, or that all of your opposition is being controlled by MFA-holding members of a conspiracy.

Me? Well, I'm Tim Hall, apparently. An entire "completely ULA unrelated" blog was dedicated to that subject. Why? On what evidence? Because Wenclas can't believe someone named Bryan Guski could exist while (a.) not work for Rick Moody or (b.) not be a disgruntled former member who had to inhale your old man mothball breath for too long. The truth is anyone dumb enough to join the ULA for as much as four seconds doesn't hold much of my respect, which would include that guy.

The joke is this. The evidence of my Tim Hall identity was that I knew of specific details of Karl Wenclas's New Criterion back-'n-forth hissy fit from awhile back, and no one but Hall knew of it. Check this out, oh master of the new literary revolution: Go to Google. Type in Wenclas New Criterion. Check out results THREE and FOUR. There for any member of the public to see.
The future, my friends, who leads an ONLINE literary revolution, doesn't know how the fucking internet works. Priceless.

My biggest objections to their existence are twofold. (a.) They can't write. Check it out, if you must. Don't worry, the prodigious kings of literature never update.

Let's just look at Karl's blog, for starters. Regardless of what I think of him at the end of the day, an actual writer might be a little, I dunno, quick? Witty? Have a way with words? (Note: the ULA actually doesn't believe any of these things are relevant. As long as you're old, angry, and own a pen, you're what writing is supposed to be about. Asking for something interesting or demonstrating talent is being elitist, after all.)

Their sad, tired usage of "Miller Genuine Draft" "Not So Swift" "Bryan Gurski/Gluski/Guussky" as cutting insults are, well, just pathetic. You can't think of anything more clever, "Future of Literature"(tm) (c)(r)? If cleverness isn't your gig, how about just refraining from the most middle school version of wordplay I've ever run across from an adult (over 75)?

My other objection is their hypocrisy. They hate predictable, stuffy, boring mainstream lit. And you now, as you always have, masturbate over any attention paid to you by mainstream media outlets, institutions or people.

The way Karl namedrops has always been sickening...everything is irrelevant until they mention him. Then, all of a sudden, "you know, hip New Yorkers always check out Time Out to see what's going on." JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. If they refrained to mention you or run an article, then they'd be irrelevant again (note: in this case, you would have been right. Fucking TIME OUT NEW YORK?!?!?).

Paris Review, New Criterion, Gawker, WNYC, MediaBistro...it's all the fucking same with you, Wenclas. Why don't you just admit you want to be a mainstream fucking celebrity? And, as your writing is infrequent and terrible, you dream of being famous for no reason about as much as a 14 year old girl.

I've never met another underground writer...or even an "overground" one who spent so much time obsessing over so-called "literary fossils," Gucci wearing publishers, or trust-fund introverts like Rick Moody. You just want to be them, I guess. Otherwise, who gives a shit? It's not like oil companies competing for business...you pick one, or you pick the other...Rick Moody's readers would never be yours anyway, because they actually like him, so who gives a shit? I realize the "stronger than it's ever been" ULA still has no readers (or writers, for that matter), but that's probably your problem. I left my ULA watching/commenting almost a year ago, after only doing it for about a month, about 3 or 4 weeks before they first disallowed commenting from anyone who didn't like them, those brave revolutionaries. At that time, they were going nowhere, with no writers, no progress, and one show in a Philly dive bar's basement. Since then, it's been exactly the same (minus any shows of course, and a few writers who've dropped out). Now, they have another big event that, of course, no one will ever give a shit about. They'll stand with placards at Columbia, a few people will gawk confusedly, and then forget them completely, forever and always. Hooray.

If these people and institutions suck so badly (and many of them actually do) why are they redeemed by uttering "Karl Wenclas exists"? All of a sudden, not only are they relevant, but "y'know, Time Out New York is where New Yorkers in the know find out about what's culturally important."

You are so full of shit. Now it's the point where he would call me something like Fryan Musty. You know, to demonstrate your writing skills and your razor-sharp wit (I know wit is borgeois, I'm sorry). Perhaps you could grace us with another stream-of-consciousness run-on sentence? Those are pretty new in literature, you know, and you always supply such nice ones.
With love, as always.