In part one of our descent into filth – the exploration of the unknown drunkard-prince of Ames, Archibald Crouton – we were left with nothing but questions. Who was the man? Where had he gone and why did he go? Little more than uncovering the only two known photos of Crouton has been accomplished. And don’t ask where we got the photos, because one comes to learn when searching for answers concerning the man that answers often come with reasons not to share with others. We’ll leave it at that.
We last left Crouton’s poetry with a layer peeled back. That layer was one colored with honesty, fear, anger, and loneliness. We may not know very much about the poet, but we do know he had no hesitation in spitting out his heart, or a whiskey straight. Layer two is much like the first in that it wears the same clues on its dusty skin. But at least we’re getting to know the man now. Like an old drinking buddy.
Filth: The Writings of Archibald Crouton, Part I