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Silence broken. Spy pigeon detected in foreign airspace. Mission compromised. MiCrow Winter 2009 “Half” is exposed online right now, a compilation of kickass writing, in the midst of which am I with my “Zero,zero” flash. No decoy post, this. It’s on Page 23 of the Winter 2009 PDF archive here. See for yourself.
Seems Walter Conley has let loose his finely edited MiCrow product directly after doing one bang-up job with Issue #5 of his own mag, “disenthralled.” It’s all too much, a greedy reader’s finest nightmare. Choice images and words after choice images and words. Go roll in them and don’t shake them off. Leave tracks. Might as well. The jig’s up.
The Essence of a Thing 
MissA zero acquires the sensuous curl of eternity in your deft literary hands, so that it swells to the value of infinity. Exquisitely done.
Do I mind that you’ve taken complimentary to the moon? Of course not. I’m always up for interplanetary flight, astral projection, time travel, whatever’ll explode the myth of time : )
Zero, zero – not an easy place to lock onto or steady ourselves… where we find ourselves when we stop swiveling, spewing and spinning in chaos.
Blameless and foresaken! Love it, Miss A.
The language of this piece- every sentence – has not one wasted word.
Blameless and forsaken it is. WTF does anyone do to deserve that? Well, I hear it’s nothing personal on a universal scale… Anyway, thanks for taking the trip over to MiCrow to read, P, and for the “not one wasted word” compliment. I appreciate it because I do stress over flash, wordy so-and-so that I am : )
Brutal, yes, but a piercing evocation of our connectivities, our x and y axes, the multiple “births.” I was particularly struck by the narrator’s falling rebirth between the thighs of the stone mother oracle.
“Fucked up” and the Jesus quotes stop me a bit, none of which is coming from any latter-day Victorian pieties (as you know). The scene and women are so vividly conveyed that “fucked up woman” just seemed a redundancy, perhaps not trusting the language enough. Of course, the narrator may just have an insistent fondness for the phrase.
I’m more conflicted on the Jesus quote: I just reread them again, and the Aramaic is growing on me. Still not sure about the latter. Of course, I’m reading the narrator’s fall between the thighs as rebirth, which prejudices my read of the Jesus reprise.
Mere quibbles. Much happiness for you in expanding your exposure.
Latter-day Victorian pieties… Yes, yes, I do know, and I know my posts would be lacking if not studded with word jewels like that!
I easily lose perspective when in the middle of the fray, and from that place I’d tell you I think Zero,zero’s ambiguous enough to be whatever the reader wants it to be; but since writers of things generally lean toward particular thoughts, I’ll tell you mine:
“Fucked up” is the narrator’s thought on first seeing the toilet woman, the narrator at that point not necessarily acknowledging herself the same; not until she meets the Jesus eyes and sees the salvation to be had in innocence, and a deep, knee-jerk yearning drives her to snatch at this particular opportunity without thinking about price. And the price is a freakish trading of places, innocence for two minutes or however long it takes a newborn to drown.
You know “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” is “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” in English, right? So I made a connection between Jesus’ and the narrator’s questioning of prices.
There you go, my dear. Back to just plain brutal : )
That third paragraph in your comment is exquisite. Thank you for walking me through some of the thinking behind this piece. I love that the eyes in all that mess are Jesus eyes.
Yes, I know that the English is the translation of the Aramaic; that’s why my read puts me somewhat at odds with the reprise: since I’m reading the narrator as being reborn herself, as she falls between the woman’s thighs, “godforsaking” is the last thing on my mind. Narrator is taking a dive, but even in her own disarray, I do not think she is forsaken, and I think she knows it.
You the bomb.
Yes, the narrator knows it, probably closer to the threshold will count it well worth it…
Like I know you and you know me, Paschal, it is so worth it : )
my dear miss a — to say that you are exquisitely talented is trite and banal – but i’m at a loss to come up with words that are adequate for comment — each time i am able to drop in you leave me tossed up on the rocks with your most recent — zero, zero being no exception! — i love how you can spin around and strip bare these characters and simultaneously nudge my literary self awake for just a moment – cause my mind to fall between the belletristic talents of your schizy brainchildren — helluva place to fall, but i like that it’s never a soft place — it’s all good that your mind is erased every night, kiddo – how else to be faithful to jack and yet be so outre and edgy each time out — danni
Danni, dahling, how the hell have you been? If you’re in the mood to commiserate, shoot me an e-mail why doncha? Either way, I’m thrilled that you still come by here to read when you get the chance! It lifts me up, makes my day. And that’s just your presence. Your kickass comments full of compliments don’t hurt me none neither ; ) I adored your jack and erasure comment. And so did Walter. Now I gotta go find out what he’s going on about…
Erased, but not lost. For the right price, I will gleefully and discreetly, of course, share what I have taken from her.
Contact information? Unnecessary.
I will contact you if your desire to know is strong enough; so think before you think that hard.
Walter
Alright, Walter, you devil. Uncle.
Busy bee you are Miss Alister.
I’m just dropping by to leave one of those ‘devil mood was here’ messages. And since this is the season I want to wish you a happy birthday even though I don’t know exactly when it will be. I’m hoping fate has brought me here in time :)
Ms. Mood, you beautiful soul, you! I love it when you drop by! How could I not? I’ve got a soft spot for you, my oldest cyberfriend. And yes, fate did bring you here in time. Think Jack Kerouac and subtract one day ; )
There but for the grace of god…almost suffocating…intense. A slap in the face.I need to read it again but when I’m off the wagon. Well done.
Fuck the wagon, Paul, I’m just chuffed you’re here! And ta, as you say, mucho ta.