In the 1940’s there was a literary couple that rivaled Henry Miller and Anais Ninn for their fiery passions for sex, liquor, writing, and life. Their names, Agnes P. Farmington and Mike Clastinas and though their works are not as well recognized Miller or Ninn’s they are highly respected and constantly read among a small elite of literary fanatics. Sadly very little is known about these two authors and unlike Miller and Ninn there are no letters between one another showing the detailed insight into their lives. Nevertheless, they did leave many small notes for one another and often these notes would give great insight to the turmoil the two suffering artists lived through.
On your way back from the bar please grab a dozen eggs, some milk, and a cork to put up your ass. I don’t know what you ate yesterday, but it kept me up all night.
That was the first note discovered between the two brilliant minds. To the eye of the literary layman it appears to be a crude note, but in actuality it shows a great deal of insight to what Agnes was experiencing whilst working on her first novel, My Mother’s Womb Is My Father’s Hatchet. At the time Agnes had discovered she was barren due to a botched back alley abortion. Sadly she wasn’t pregnant at the time but had a crush on an abortionist. Not knowing how to woo him she made an appointment to see him. Not only was the abortion a grave error so was her crush. While small talking in the back alley she discovered the abortionist had a proclivity for anal sex with men. Thus making the whole event tragic and pointless.
I’m going to get drunk with the boys tonight at Earl of Old Town. Do me a favor and don’t leave your shoes in front of the door that is unless you want me to break my goddamned neck.
P.S. What’s this bullshit about a kitten?
Mike wrote this note when his first novella, I Don’t Have Time For Cancer Just Give Me a Stroke, was panned by the New Yorker with a short simple review that read, “Please do give Mike Clastinas cancer. It will make up for the suffering I endured while reading his trite ramblings.”
Obviously, Mike was very distraught from this review and the comment in the note about leaving her shoes in front of the door was a clear metaphor for his low self-esteem and jealousy for Agnes whose writing was being praised by everyone.
In the early fifties, Mike and Agnes wrote a small series of notes that give the clearest insight into their literary relationship as well as their fiery romantic relationship. This series of notes coincide with their joint publishing of poems they wrote together while drunk, blind folded and trading the pen back and forth. The collection was called, How Can I Get Out When I have Never Been In.
What the shit? It burns when I urinate. Did you fuck the guy at the Texaco station again?
P.S. Shave your pussy.
I did fuck the Texaco man, but I got the crabs from the postman and the syphilis from Father Mahoney.
Odd, I’m the one who gave the Texaco man crabs.
Sadly this would be the last correspondence Mike and Agnes had. One hot Chicago night Mike came home after a night of drinking and read a note from Agnes that simply read, “Shhh. Sleeping.” Mike having a great deal of insight to Agnes’ literary prowess knew that this meant she no longer loved him. Drunk and disturbed by this he beat her to death with a duffle bag. Due to the duffle bag being soft and empty the beating lasted seventy-two hours. Once Agnes was dead Mike went to the back door and jumped off the balcony. When the police discovered his body they found a note in his breast pocket that simply read, “I left out the back.”
Sadly their deaths didn’t help catapult their literary works up to the heights of greatness. However, they live in the hearts of a very few as geniuses.