Herbert Hunke is brilliant, and i suggest reading any & everything you can get your hands on by him. The raw unschooled writings, of a man who lived on the street all over the country, but especially in New York City in the 1940- till his death at the Chelsea Hotel in 1996. God Bless Hunke. He's the reason I write.
Raw, honest stories from a master storyteller. This guy makes the beats look like they were half-assing things. Huncke can inflict stories on your psyche, you can feel the conflicting emotions of curiosity and aversion of young Huncke in "In The Park", feel his sense of isolation and barely controlled panic in "And The Evening Sun Turned Crimson". His pity for those afflicted with the human condition is tangible throughout his work, but never seems to extend to himself in any significant way. Huncke is one of those rare writers possessed of the ability to be unflinchingly honest about the worst things in themselves and others while, at the same time, always staying on the lookout for the best. Kerouac described Huncke as "ready to introduce new worlds with a shrug", but I say he does something far more profound; he makes the same old world feel new again.