I briefly considered doing my review of A Bucket of Blood (1959) in a stream of Beat poetry such as opens the movie. Then I thought, “Naah.  That’s not my thing, and all the cats will know that I’m just a poseur, I’m not REAL, I’m not TRUE, I’m not AWARE.”

So I did my own thing. Which, if I may say so myself, I do darned well.

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