Thomas Pynchon

"one summer afternoon Mrs Oedipa Mass came home from a Tupperware party and put perhaps too much kersh in the fondoo and found that she had been named executer or executrix of the estate of one Invererity a California real estate mogul..."

He sounds like a real recluse, and very little is known about Mr Pynchon

Evidently he did say or write..

Any way back to ,The crying ...

"Pierce had died back in the spring, she tried to think back if anything had happened... She wondered shuffling back through a fat deck fall of days...silence positive and thorough fell... The shadow waited a year before visiting...today was another defeat, he began...Moocho shaved his upper lip each morning three times, three times against the grain to remove any remotest breath of a mostache using two blades he drew blood invariably but kept  at it...on his hair used only water combing it like Jack Lemon to throw them further off. The sight of sawdust even pencil shavings made him whince... mechanics known to use it for hushing sick transmissions, He walked out of a party one night because someone used the word cream puff ..(is Thomas Pynchon describing himself? )...maliciously in his hearing, the man was a Hungarian pastry chef talking shop, but there was your Moocho, thin skinned. But at least he believed in the cars...people bringing in God awful trade-ins, motorized extensions of themselves..inside rags of old underwear so they could  wipe and  could see whatever...it made him sick to look...the endless rituals of trade-ins. Each shadow filing in to exchange an extension of himself for another just as if it was the most natural thing. To Moocho it was horrible, endless convoluted incest . If he had been in the war he might have forgotten about the lot. He had believed too much in the lot...yet to look at him now gliding like a bird in an updraft toward the shakerfull of booze smiling out of his fat vortex ringed centre, you would think all was flat calm, gold, serene , until he opened his mouth...."