Miller, Bukowski & Their Enemies

"May 1997. I'm sitting in a local cow-town restaurant over a cup of coffee and a hand-rolled cigarette. I'm killing time. I've got a new book with me, one I never would have found on my own, sent by Ernst Richter, a German friend who did the cover art. The book is Miller, Bukowski & Their Enemies. I cracked the cover and expected the worst – someone most certainly has bitten off more than he can chew. Thirty pages later I've finished the piece on Miller and remember the wash.

By the time everything is folded and ready to carry home, I've finished the piece on Bukowski, and by the time I put the light out in bed that night, I've finished the book. Ten minutes later I put the light back on and get out of bed. Throw on some sweat pants and sit on the dark porch smoking. How can I sleep after a book like that has punched me in the gut, whacked me alongside the head and resuscitated every reason I ever found in sixty years of life for not going along with whatever the going game plan is? I'm agitated, on fire, back on the front lines."

John Bennett, publisher, Vagabond Press