“How do you like your blue eyed boy, Mr. Death?” read the E.E. Cummings quote that tattooed Harry Crews' right bicep. I suppose he got his answer. Crews died last week; for those of us who followed his work it's quite a loss. National obits have alternately likened the 'literary outlaw' to Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson, but those are loose, at best, comparisons. If you grew up in the South, or have a feeling for the region, you appreciate Crews surgical gift for tapping . . .
Only the good shit. Aquarium Drunkard is powered by its patrons. Keep the servers humming and help us continue doing it by pledging your support.
To continue reading, become a member or log in.