There are no shortage of theorists, aesthetes, or criticism or meta-criticism or whatever it is the Harry Blooms-in-training produce; yet rarely is there -on the Valve or most lit-blogs--some person uttering, like, ???here is a writer who I dig, man.??? There exists nothing worse than the careerist lit-twit who can give you 10 different interpretations of Titus Andronicus, correct your french irre