The eminent philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein (1898-1951), is considered by many to be the most important and influential philosopher of the 20th century, whereas his son, D. L. Forbes-Wittgenstein (b.1951) by contrast, is considered by a few as the most speciously neglected artist, writer, and poet of the 20th and 21st centuries.
From the late 1960s, Wittgenstein's son took to existentially roaming the world, though for now he resides principally in San Francisco, California, and where during the 1980's he encountered the no nonsense, non-guru U. G. Krishnamurti. Forbes has written twelve books to date; ten published within a three-year period. He is also a prolific painter; his first one-man five-year retrospective was held in San Francisco in 1980 . . .
(Opening to a book review)
Yes, well, the above scoop is all very fine and dandy, but what I need is for you to buy my biography, Wittgenstein's Son and U. G. Krishnamurti . . . Ducks or Rabbits, and also if you can possibly manage it, buy my bio-novels, poetry and plays, paintings too. Then I will not have to schlepp a shopping cart about with a sad-ass looking dog and cat and panhandle on the streets, and sleep in cardboard boxes not of our own making or design.
Then perhaps with a little dosh, the dog, cat, and I will not be so sad-ass looking or moved-on at the whim of robotic enforcement officers, or any self-appointed members of the ethical community who address and look at us as though they would willingly assist us in their new assisted suicide programme.
When young, though poor, life in San Francisco used to be great. Those were the days when South of Market was a wonderful un-thriving wilderness, and a T-shirt at Goodwill cost 10 cents, and the monthly rent on my first studio apartment in the Mission District with a view across the city was 120 bucks. Now I am old, though still poor, life in San Francisco is not so great, in fact it sometimes sucks big-time.
So please buy any or all of my twelve books published so far, and my paintings too, so my dog, cat, and I may end our days with a bit of dignity and in the gutter of our own choosing.
You might even like my books, and my paintings.
Thank you and hasta la vista.