Monday, July 3, 2017

J.H. Johns


A moment of glory—
an instant of a thrill-
before you know it—
knew it—
you were back;

for the rest of your life—
if you had been told,
you never would have believed it;

to become—
just another "laborer" in life;
a near-to-meaningless cog;
an infinitesimal aspect
of an institutional machine;

that cared nothing
for, of or about
your sacrifice,


Paul Churchill Mann reads "And That's the Way It Went":

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J.H. confesses: "This piece is the product of observing the one-time proud, handsome, attractive, beautiful, shapely, fit, strong, enthusiastic, determined cross-section that you see in the supermarket, committed, relegated- imprisoned- in the embodiment of what they have unwittingly become."

J.H. JOHNS "grew up and came of age" while living in East Tennessee and Middle Georgia. Specifically, the two places "responsible" for the writer that he has become are Knoxville, Tennessee and Milledgeville, Georgia. Since then, he has moved on to Chicago—for a brief stint—and New York City—for a significantly longer stay. Currently, he is "holed up" in a small town where when he is not writing, he tends to his "nature preserve" and his "back forty." His goal is to surround his house with all sorts of vegetation so as to obscure it from the gaze of the "locals." He is assisted in this task by his coonhound buddy and companion, Roma.

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