The audience is unshockable, at one with the thin, intense young man in black raveled sweater who gets up on the tiny stage to read from his as yet unpublished manuscript. “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness...” Or if there is shock, it’s the shock of recognition popping off in a series of electrical synapses. “... starving hysterical naked / dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, / angelheaded hipsters ...”
