At A Glance 1:
CORPSE ON PUMPKIN is the home of Pellborough-born photographer JARET FERRATUSCO. Its conception in the early stages of the 2000s led way uncertainly to months/years of undecided misgiving, near-impartial interruption and an adherent hesitation that has politely begun to overshadow the future of the last remaining half of this poor fellow\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\'s life. When just a worthless little boy alone, while stumbling about the moors one afternoon after school near his home across Granesh Bridge, he discovered what became his first camera, sunken under the surface of the water in a ravine. Since that day he has been effectively motioning towards the most graceful way of saying thank you to the people he cares about. He presently lives in Portland, Oregon with a sleeping bag stuffed with sofa cushions in one corner of the room, an electric typewriter on the floor beside the bed amidst a spattering of empty beer bottles, and a lamp against the far wall that was given to him by Neil Garriscond.
TEMPORARY MAILING ADDRESS / KEEP IN MIND THE DRUNK PHOTOGRAPHER DOES NOT LIVE AT THIS ADDRESS, BUT LIKES TO RECEIVE POSTCARDS AND CAPTIONED POLAROIDS:
JARET FERRATUSCO
1807 SE Ash St.
Portland, Oregon 97214
At A Glance 2:
And I ran, too, for my dear, deadened Elizabeth, whose bones may be charred now or lost and possibly even non-existent. As I hopped with the grace of forest deer over a section of waste bins and rotten wooden baskets, the elevation of my body took me to the Heavens in small, nastily vivid peels away from reality. Though I could not possibly be amidst scents any more pleasant than the sorrow in my sweat and the pungent litter of filthy streets deteriorating in the haze of monotonous days and nights, my head was telling me I smelled the soft tulips my dear Elizabeth would tuck behind her ears with her hair. And when the city trash seemingly reached some manner of repulsive apex at the piles of waste shoved and sculpted at the corner of the Headon Road, my lungs took in nothing of it but yet all of Elizabeth’s angelically wholesome flesh, her skin and her lips, and her breath which was of the constant dew at the riverside in a fantasy world that I once lived in when alive with her, whom I loved and who I have wasted countless breaths continuing to live after.
