POE, EDGAR ALLAN (1809 – 1849) Fiend, Murderer. A so-called creative person is invariably driven by exactly the same motives that might compel someone else to break a window. It's unfashionable to advocate the destruction of art-works, but nothing produced in a malevolent spirit can do anything other than replicate that ill-feeling in others. Edgar Allan Poe, for example, wrote while in such a foul humour that nobody reading him can fail to be effected. My brother, Spencer, became infatuated with his work while in his early teens and was subsequently prone to bad skin, moodiness and solitary pleasures. I vividly remember the embarrassing circumstance of being trapped under Spencer's bed while he unsuccessfully attempted to seduce Tara Gibb. Looking up, I was startled by the appearance of Poe's scowling face pressed against the window-pane, forefinger pointed toward me. Unable to restrain myself, I cried out and suffered the indignity of being dragged from my hiding place by the ears. To this day, Spencer remains afflicted by Poe's baleful influence. He sulks and loiters, leaving disgusting emissions. See also MASTURBATION

 

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