I love manifestos. I’m not saying that I agree with all of them, or even most of them. Sometimes they are downright evil. But as a literary form, the Manifesto is, when properly executed, a flame of pure fire.
I have a new favorite author and his name is Poe Ballantine. A genuine American wanderer, he writes first-hand reports, or “personal essays,” from an America too seldom written about by anyone with any first-hand knowledge – the factory, the road-side motel, the Greyhound bus station.