« Puisque le bonheur n’existe pas, tâchons d’être heureux sans lui. » It’s your party and I don’t want to be thought of as high maintenance. I think we caught all the scorpions who live in your throat. Utah town burns 16-foot mammoth effigy for winter solstice. It smells like masking tape inside this suitcase and a fortune cookie that reads, “love conquers all”. Jumping around and around the fields like a drunk grasshopper, r u there yet? ‘my hrror’ the billboard reads; the ‘o’ has either fallen off or they were too cheap to buy two o’s. Of course I too would love to beat the shit out of someone. But unlike her I would only derive a sense of pleasure from it if the person truly deserved it. And even then, I would probably feel guilty afterward. When I told D I thought it would be cool to be a dominatrix he told me he wanted me to whip him. I said, but you’re too nice. I would feel bad. I only want to whip shitty people. This is a deeply disturbing and darkly hilarious novel whose full meaning, its author asserts, will be found not in the book’s pages but in the dreams people will have after reading it. It depicts a postcataclysmic world in which the forces of capitalism have begun to reestablish themselves. Sharply opposed to such a trend, a group of crones confined to a nursing home — all of them apparently immortal — resolves to create an avenging grandson fashioned of lint and rags. And in a “greasy parlando”, which always inhabits a compromised social structure, a tweezed eyebrow’s the fringe of a shanty-town along the manicured horizon, like if yes subtends a sharp declension metered out to that best part where we possess more brutal happiness or as we sleep sequestered wet reload within this mortar lies R136a1 and a furnace of god-making, and yet we are only talking about it; that, or something like it, “Oxytocin Nasty”, with milk and reward where you have to Google most of it to get started, Pindaric Odes made of serial nos, season cycles, chemicals, tableaux, waterways, the sound, the joyous and aching sound: “to compare our / fahrenheits / our barrens and our / heights our dusts and / driveways” with “slogans” we turn a corner and unexpectedly come face to face with Content in its most up-close bristling troubling aspect and Layout in its most directly eloquent mode, torqued – or should I say “tocked”? – more tenuously “Lakes of the Rub’ al Khali” refers to the poignantly ephemeral lakes of that desert, 5-10,000 years ago, once inhabited by long-horned cattle and water buffalo. The American Bison is arguably the most dangerous animal in the USA; it is curious to reflect that most wild stock contains an admixture of genes from domestic cattle.
[Note: Sources: Ernst Moerman, as quoted in Pierre Joris, “Puzzled Translator’s Merry Xmas Wishes”, at Nomadics, 25 Dec 012 (“Translated it will say ‘Given that happiness doesn’t exist / let’s do our best to be happy without it.’ The original works better because there are two French words for happiness / happy: ‘bonheur’ as noun, and ‘heureux’ as adjective. Even if an etymological link exists, the words are different enough on the surface to suggest two unconnected concepts of happiness / being happy while keeping that rhyming bi-vowel ‘eu’ going. I guess I could replace [the 2nd] ‘happy’ with what the dictionary gives as synonyms: cheerful, cheery, merry, joyful, jovial, jolly, jocular, gleeful, carefree, untroubled, delighted, smiling, beaming, grinning, in good spirits, in a good mood, lighthearted, pleased, contented, content, satisfied, gratified, buoyant, radiant, sunny, blithe, joyous, beatific; thrilled, elated, exhilarated, ecstatic, blissful, euphoric, overjoyed, exultant, rapturous, in seventh heaven, on cloud nine, walking on air, jumping for joy, jubilant; chirpy, over the moon, on top of the world, tickled pink, on a high, as happy as a clam; jocund… “); Shane Allison, “A Birthday Poem for Nat”, at EOAGH, 24 Dec 012; Julia Cohen, “I Think We Caught All The Scorpions Who Live In Your Throat Press”, at $650 Apartment for $650, 25 Dec 012; Jacob Sloan, “Utah Town Burned 16-Foot Mammoth Effigy For Winter Solstice”, at Disinformation, 25 Dec 012; Ananta Prayitno, “rainy”, at Have U Seen My Whale #5; Jman Atienza, “Borrowed Space”, at Have U Seen My Whale #5; Michael O’Brien, “Terror & This World”, at Have U Seen My Whale #5; Jackie Wang, “once she boasted about beating someone up with a chair and getting away with it …”, at Ballerinas Dance With Machine Guns, 25 Dec 12; Amazon blurb for Antoine Volodine, Minor Angels; Michael Peverett, “Better Than Language (2011 Anthology)”, at Intercapillary Space, Sept 011 (all mashed up, incorporating bits from Anna Ticehurst, Joe Luna, Mike Wallace-Hadrill, Sarah Kelley, Steve Willey, Timothy Thornton, and Tomas Weber)]