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.