Epos, Epyllia
and Long Poems

"Whose shiny prosthesis
unhymens this prairie,
obtruding on soil
like a smooth hookah-tube
urged on a flippant girl,
trying to get her to
do smoke as vulvas do semen?"

The painter and poet, in a
death-wrestle, try to disentangle
their protean identities, or at
least to maintain a numerical
tally of the limbs, heads, and
torsos their shifting persons
comprise.

Unlikely Books

see some of David Aronson's illustrations

As with FAMILY ROMANCE, Tom has
accepted the challenge posed by a
stack of preexisting art. In this
case the ekphrasis is in verse,
and the ineffable images have
sprung from the cranial alembic of
alchemical visionary David Aronson.

Our guarantee: visuals came first,
then verbals.

Publisher Jonathan Penton says,
"This is the most peculiar book of
erotica, and the weirdest book of
poetry outside of psychoses
outright, I've ever seen. This is
BHAGAVAD-GITA PORN."

This poem, extending over fourteen
hundred and sixty lines of blank
verse, recounts history's first
deliberate experimentation with
LSD-25 (
phantastica). Ernst
Jünger, the notorious death-
worshiping Iron Cross Honoree,
slips in some amphetamine
(
energetica), resulting in a
manifestation of the Plasmator,
the insane spirit who has
masqueraded as Jehovah for three
millennia.


MadHat Press

During this Ur-bummer time and
space are roundly violated. We sit
in with Mozart as he composes

an
inferior concerto for an obese
patron. We help Alexander
Nikolayevich Scriabin annihilate
humanity in the Himalayas. We
reduce Christopher Hitchens and
Richard Dawkins to little boys and
tuck them into their bunk-bed for
the night, where they suffer lucid
dreams of Roman beast wranglers
and concentration camp matrons
hiding in the closet. The
Plasmator barges back in and
assumes the shape of Wayne Newton,
the Midnight Idol, who closes off
the show with a guest appearance,
live from Las Vegas.


The passages in red ink are
inspired by the Comma Johanneum, a
marginal gloss that, in the third
century, was slipped into the
western Bible by a sleepy copyist
or a naughty forger. For eighteen
hundred years people have been
tangling over that brief clause.
It has exercised everyone from
Erasmus to Calvin to Newton to
Pope Pius XI, because it
determines whether the Trinity is
true fact or flimflammery.

In the same spirit of
troublemaking,
Energeticum/Phantasticum's red-ink
glosses will sometimes misdirect,
as do Tom Bradley's footnotes to
This Wasted Land, Felicia's Nose
and
Epigonesia.