by E.W. Wilder
In this brief work, Bean Newton created a quasi-philosophical, yet
arguably psychological and physiological set of statements all roughly
amounting to, from a purely rationalist perspective, some kind of headache.
Newton, of course, being a self-described "Grumpascetical,"
called it jazz. Despite appearances, this was not considered a slight.
The work emerges from Newton’s stint in 1997 working at a used
record store, Slipped Discs, during the day and at a grain elevator
at night despite the fact that Newton was dangerously allergic to grain
dust and was plagued with sinus headaches and tortured by inflamed boils
almost constantly. Despite the oozing pustules that covered much of
his body, he managed to date Purewater, Kansas’ notorious cake-maker
and soup-specialist, Charlotte-Anne Emilie, during this time.
Emilie’s memoir of this period is forthcoming from Turkish Armadillo
A Feeling that Was Later Described as Jazz
This is a particular idea that is about bluegreen. It is sort of a
color that reminds one of what advertisers use to remind us of the ocean.
That's about as well as I can describe it, but suffice it to say it
is neither blue nor green, not factually.
And it's stationed right above my hippocampus, exuding vacuity, a
somnolence to the rest. The only thing that keeps thoughts in motion
in the rest of the head is the gentle, almost tidal, sway of the idea.
This idea is nothing like liberty. It's less militant for one, but
more insidious. It is beginning to gel, the tidal sway becoming a sort
of pulsation. Later, now, it warms, an inside-outside womb.
The down side of succor is suffocation.