1995 • $10.00
Out of Print
John Crouse’s writing is a non-stop torque conflating the distinctions of sky, people, forest, political costume store; a torque which enhances the writing’s own motions, nightmare, images in forward gear only as: ‘historically’ (actively) voiding reverse gear. As such, his writing is a “vanishing storm” in which a watershed or ‘joy’ plateau occurs where “Acidic urine rain wrings carbons from sky on the whole shuffling treeless ruinland channeled by river of AIDS virus leftover from valiant chemical warfare … blackbirds sucking its lethality become instant exponential anguish carriers.”
Crouse’s trying to get at “the squareroot of hues:” “behold sky, cobalt edge to edge, broke by trees of deepest green, green of the imageanotion at this dusk as at generally all, contrasts’re sharp.” He makes his own vocabulary rushing forward at full tilt, the “camel of wow.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Crouse has written Lapses (1995), Eventings (1999), Belows (2001), Hunkers (2001), Headlines (2001), Prefaces ( 2001), Conscripts (2003), Jimmys (2003), Speechings (2004), Huddles (2006), and Obstructs (forthcoming from Spectacular Diseases).
Woman loose shirted laundry. Cigarettes thumby magazines laundry instructions old man leering her he dropping socks at her basket bending him leering calculating new math which axiom himself X and all factors add up to him else his days number blindered figure eights thy will be done.
She do notice window watermelon tint to look out there, appreciates cold war woman pointering on forgot wall hows and when suds bleach sturdy fabric, yes but that sound.
Pelvic adding machine whizzing variables equals old man’d like to seed her so woman loose shirted’s targeted X’s maw.
Spoilsport Z enters, wrestles old man seat of his pants coot pleading I still have a load of erasers in the wash, so Z pelts him with those out the door, earning hug, oh hard to beat bosom.
Watermelon window lights final sun tumbling vine snapping.
Z’s Look let’s get lost goes them to another day exact as the one they are in Z and woman loose shirted, opposite that is to say adam and evely from look at me look at me to mountains look at them where they begin to live soon as they arrive there chopping wood carrying water fashioning elbow room from expanse they middle of the night confess they owe to unknown that way they make babies and baby fishing poles for baby fish and baby moons naked bambi butt babies arithmetic of feathers science of boughs chronology frog croaks figleafless hash at sunup hash harvest starlight hashplot jackoffs down bed same the bunch same bath same river food.
Once upon a time this exists then public servants come in nightmares to protect and to serve flailing for identification unforthcoming, babies raped hash torched genitals all too evident for law abide so high police with erections make nonexistent fashioned elbowroom so forth, jailing wrongdoers Z and woman loose shirted, kids sold to pornographers selling to politicians.
Under bridge where deposited following forty days incarceration of the two forcemasked as jail administrators’ parents so wrong righting administrators could heal wounds or coitally enact gouge nurse new ones, stormy gully tarp cardboard. Not daring to love. Love of moments only. Warming up to moments breathing so called life loves moments only, taking all of stray time the two cartwheel into rivers bridged business as usual what the fuck else to do while rivers run toxins dreaming watermelon high times of impromptu percussion electric guitars bird dandruff ago to love breathing dregs in bongwater dreams river flowed dreamed dredged of toxins drenching cardboard cozy hell.
Mornings crotches chime credit card sonnets shit slaked trams run sham duties furrowing shook scab on scab ground they ditch at boneyards arattling crapcup of pigeon eggs.
Cupping entire of him, woman loose shirted, his rants of Fine Line, The Deal, nestling Z squarerooting. Yanking tubers where seeds of doubt plant soon as. Z says. Fine Line is the Deal, anyway real Deal. real Deal is the deal anyway. Do you like my hat.
Delving said rants both of each chewing spuds pooling urine to still clearer than rainwater, cuddling soul cooling urine draughting gists, The Deal.
Tramping shoreline days her bodding Z lark ozark mother dipping wellwater calling to dinner cooing smarmyest of foibles so she awared at grabs at her milk homespun teat.
Enacting you would think correct at dark or light bridgespans teaty sup fluted balls splayed coughing gorger, Z’s. Elbow flop coming bristly, woman loose shirted commends, her offspring stole naked shoulders where spitting cameras benign pan, stirring panfull of defecate woman loose shirted bahs, comfort of Z.
Occasion she and Z loiter smackdab whoredstrom stoop, lamenting virgin bungs, see those episiotomizing charged cards cramming what shat yellow shit in dydie, wellwater dipping sorrow mothers long haired and nailed six footly mulched thanks be her unbeknownst womb witness not bung she lovely wiped poo powder…wawa break nails at swinging not near enough quickly doors, tragic world event reckoned per se. Complicator, Z strews marbles gandhi be damned, pretty lichen glimry wellstone colors gaping chutes swallow bitching.
Z and she hauled off drunktank.