Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Chainsaw Noir

Recent research has shown me something interesting: there is little intersection between people that enjoy my work and people that enjoy poorly built websites. VERY little. I've heard this brought up before. So, with a lot of help, I've launched a new, more aesthetically pleasing blog. Enjoy the stuff that's already here, you'll find the odd nugget of wisdom and piece of flash fiction in the archives, but for new material, you want to go HERE

That's I'll see you there.

Monday, April 18, 2011

I Need You to Understand (a flash fiction piece)

Something awful has happened, Lyle. You have gotta believe me. I know that I am a representative of the liberal Jew run media, but I’m telling you the truth. You are decapitated. It seems like a difficult thing to process, I know, especially since your head is not attached to you and quite frankly, Lyle you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed anyhow. Not nearly so sharp as the machete that detached your head. You’re a dumb fuck, Lyle. A dumb, headless fuck.

You remember how last night I called you up and I told you I had a tip that a bunch of coeds were decapitated by a machete? It’s okay, take a second. You’re a little slow. Because you’re fucking headless. I’m sure if I were headless my memory wouldn’t be so great. Don’t call me names, Lyle. I’m trying to help you remember why you’re headless. But you are, Lyle. You are headless. Shit…okay, this is hurting my argument. Let me just jog your memory. You remember now? Yeah. You remember the call? Good. Remember you told me I was a liar? Then I told you to check your daughter’s room? And then you found her body, on the bed, in the puddle. And her head was under the bed. And somebody had stuffed all of those red crayons into her vagina.

Then do you remember what you said to me? You told me to stop making up stories or you’d put me in the drunk tank. And you did. You lectured me on making up stories. Told me you didn’t have time for my shit when a serial killer was loose. You didn’t seem to make the connection. It’s okay. Take a second. No, I didn’t just make that up. Then this girl gets wheeled in, headless, bunch of red crayons in her pussy.

And I screamed and I said “I told you so” and still you kept me in there for another hour til they brought in another girl. Naked. Stump where her head should be. Red crayons? You remember the crayons now, don’t you? It happened. Wasn’t just what the Jews paid me to say. And you looked at the body and you looked at me and you decided to look into this weird machete decapitator theory.

So we got into the squad car and you turned on talk radio and they said that murder didn’t exist. And so you hauled me back in and it took two more victims getting wheeled in headless with dozens of red crayons in their cooches before you decided that maybe this murder theory had some legs. So you remember that now? Yeah? Good. That was really fucking tiresome, Lyle. If you weren’t my brother, I might have sued you or something.

So you got a call on your police radio that a great big, hulking guy wearing an Archie mask and carrying a dripping machete was seen outside of a sorority house. At first, you insisted it was some kind of rush prank. But then you saw the guy and decided you’d shoot him for participating in such an insensitive rush prank. So we got out of the car, you took aim at this hulk of a man wearing an Archie mask and you reprimanded him for skulking around outside a sorority house waving a machete around when a serial killer was loose. The guy survived three shots to the chest, then chopped your head off and left you here, headless in front of a sorority house full of screaming girls.

Even though you have somehow figured out how to survive without a head, Lyle, I severely doubt that you will ever make sheriff.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Kizuna: Fiction for Japan

When the Japan disaster happened, I was devastated. A great nation was hit by nature's worst and a lot of my friends and colleagues live there. To add to this, I saw this:

The sentiments of some of America's most disgusting white trash. I ranted, I raved, I got mad. Still wasn't doing anything. That's why I was glad to see Brent Millis, a Bizarro/scifi author who has been living and raising a family in Japan had started a charity anthology to help out. I'm honored to be part of this project, which features great authors from all around the world showing that they care with works of short fiction. All proceeds from this anthology will go to Japanese disaster relief. Keep an eye on it HERE

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Review of The Sorrow King by Andersen Prunty

Sweet Virginia who the peasants call the goddess of gloom… Edgar’s blues are just like Tom Thumbs. Sweet Virginia, vanquished Virginia, Virginia Lenore, Virginia Lee. Each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon his floor. He cries and trembles like the great old Florentine, architect of Dis cried over another little girl. They live forever and they ache forever, revenants of ruin like Mary Shelley’s flattopped green miscarriage. Grief is invincible, grief fucks your head. Grief is terror. Andersen Prunty deals with this relationship in a direct raw, yet altogether fun way in his latest, The Sorrow King from Cargo Cult Press.
The peace of Gethsemane, Ohio has been disturbed. Not the kind of peace that can be disturbed by teenage hooligans or loud parties, no, but a deeper peace, the heart of the town. This heart is breaking, it is beating fast with fear and threatens to stop. The horror obsessed over by Steven King and many before him (even Mary Shelley whose bolt-necked stillborn babe continues to terrify) has come to pass through an epidemic of teenage suicides. The why of it all has disappeared in favor of “who’s next?” There’s a tragic realism to this response, a reminder that depression is a mystery to so many. It hearkens back to Heathers, which shares many traits with The Sorrow King, including sardonic brutality and stylized but real young people.
The Sorrow King’s protagonists Steven and Connor are experiencing flashes of greater insight, cryptic clues that reveal where the sickness will strike next and that the two of them are quite possibly in the middle of it all. Steven is a real, listless teenager, with real listless teenage depression and real, listless teenage urges. Steven’s dad, Connor is somewhere between a sitcom caricature of a cool dad and a real life cool dad. Much of The Sorrow King is about their relationship is about their relationship, which is that of two men who have come together after the loss of Steven’s mother and one of two people who cannot comprehend the mysteries of depression and grief.
In the midst of death and despair, Steven develops an obsession that turns to love. Steven sees the enigmatic Elise walking the town at night and begins to join her. Their friendship turns quickly into love, but a love challenged by coldness and sexual distance. Prunty builds this relationship with an authentic blend of melancholia and wonder that perfectly characterizes highschool relationships. The relationship dissolves and Steven finds himself facing the power of guilt and sex through dark visions. For instance, in a particularly chilling scene, he encounters the sperm spilled during a handjob and it presents him with an awful truth.
As the book progresses the two men must do battle with a creature like Goethe’s Erl King, King’s Pennywise and perhaps Poe’s Conqueror Worm, an incarnation of grief that springs forth from the mysteries of depression and the human heart. Those who’ve read Zerostrata, Something Wicked This Way Comes and King’s New England will find The Sorrow King both alien and familiar, strange and undeniably human like grief and depression themselves.

The Sorrow King from Grindhouse Press is now available at


Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Art for Sale

I post a lot seeking work and reminding you that my books are available. Why do I do this? Because I am poor. It is hard to make money off one's art. I think things will get better after the Jimmy Plush release, but up until then, I've got to look for ways to make some extra money without begging and without cheating you fine people. When I was young, I wanted to be a painter, but was told I couldn't because of a lack of coordination and spatial sense. Instead, I learned to paint with words and poetry and construct images and worlds and states of mind. A few years ago, my girlfriend Leza suggested I try painting. I was reluctant at first, but I found myself enjoying it. I created this painting "The Magician".

Turned out I liked painting. And I've done it occasionally over the past couple years. I made one of my paintings my profile photo on Facebook and people responded very favorably, making me think maybe I had something. And what I shouldn't have is fear. So, I took my poverty as a blessing, understood is a receptive state and said to hell with it. I've decided to sell some of my paintings. The first painting, "The Magician" can be yours for just 25 dollars plus 12 for shipping (domestic) and there are others too.

This one is called Instinct. I painted it shortly before writing Archelon Ranch and I think it sparked a lot of the imagery I used in that book. I considered asking Matt and Rob from Legumeman if I could use this for a cover, but I lost my nerve. It is one of a kind and it sells for just 25 dollars plus 12 shipping. One of a kind, comes with a free piece of flash fiction.

$25+ 12 shipping

This next painting, "A Shearsman of Sorts, the Day Was Green" is bigger than the other one and has more sentimental value. It has inspired me and I hope it will inspire you. It's inspired by Wallace Stevens' poem "Man With the Blue Guitar", which in turn is inspired by Picasso's painting of the same name. This painting is a different figure, though, powerful but sort of malevolent, waiting and expecting something. This one is charged with a lot of creative energy, so would be a boon to have in your study or studio space.

35 dollars plus 20 shipping

The next painting is also weird and special. I had a tarot deck that was no longer serving me and I had just acquired a new one, so I decided I would do something that honored some of the cards while at the same time getting them out of my hair. So I wet them, tore them, stuck them to the canvas and painted three figures over them. I think you'll agree that they have a certain strange resonance to them. I call it "Gentleman Automata" because that's what the three figures make me think of, especially the pink penguinish fellow to the left.

40 dollars plus 20 shipping

Update: Decided to add another two of my earlier paintings. This is a smaller one, so is pretty inexpensive and won't cost as much to ship. But I think some of you might enjoy it.

15 dollars plus 8 dollars shipping

The lighting on this photo of the painting isn't great. The background is much lighter. This painting brings with it a certain sense of wellbeing and peace. I'm proud of how positive and nice this one is.

20 dollars plus 12 shipping

Thanks for looking at my art. If you like it, it can be yours.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Just So You Know

I am currently available to do manuscript critiques and edits, consult with authors regarding small presses that might be appropriate for their work and overall make the small press world a slightly easier place. Price negotiable. I have worked as submissions editor for Evil Nerd Empire and Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens and have edited four books thus far. I am most familiar with horror and Bizarro publishers, but all genres are welcome. Email