reading "Creditors" by August Strindberg. it's kinda funny in a way that AS may not have intended, and yet. Strindberg bubbles with wound up misogynism, unpleasant yet somehow instructive. he plays these awful things upon himself. I haven't read Céline but infer that a similar thing occurs with him. maybe you could say the same of Bukowski. the play reminds me of Wilde's plays. the dialogue is too self-conscious to resemble 'real life', yet AS pokes at some real living energies. I also think of Baudelaire's dramatic view. for all of Strindberg's blitz there's some real nakedness here. there's always a goofy side to drama, one is always reminded of how the actors are faking up a storm, even as they may be hitting some dynamite chords.