I'm not a "metal kid" or a "food-stamp kid" so I guess I'm just not hip enough to get that Valdez cat, but there's a guy out of California who's pretty good. Name: Martin, John Martin. Try "bone palace ballet."
Except there's this guy, a ghost writer of some sort. He's vulgar and talks incessantly about alcohol and he steps on martin's toes throughout the whole book. Bukowski or some such.