This ain't a headmaster here, I'm talking about the actual physics of the diction.
(and a few other writers besides, but this is a southern song to which i am responding) John Fante, Bukowski, Ambose Bierce, Hem, Mencken, Fitz, and yes, even a few southerners like Styron, Capote, Thompson, Faulkner, and of course my personal favourite: John Kennedy Toole.
Fuckers that strived to record for the rest of us that awesome potential of language and it's literature to encapsulate the vast variety of everyday existance.
One day, praise allah, they will dig out me notebooks, and say i tried to do the same.
But in the meantime, I will drink poison, smoke death, and protect the innocent.
Now that's a thin red line, let me tell youse!