i realized that i'm a dog dick awful literary critic, so i did something a little different here and typed out sections from each book that i feel best capture the total of their intentions (or that i just found the most interesting). the authors say it better than i ever could. onward;
30 FAKE BEHEADINGS by Gary J. Shipley
example:
The longer i live through this film the less wisdom anyone has. and only how i masturbate in secret is a secret. When all my techniques are exhausted, i'll concoct a new formula from out collective memory loss. Still, here now, in this sequel, nobody lives forever on their own. But then the cruelty of inflicting immortality on the poor-and them, with the whole millennia of expertise at disappearing, and all of it suddenly gone to waste. And then, not wanting to leave for fear of missing anything, I piss my pants, and this immortality begins to stink, to hurt like a motherfucker, and together we form nine drowned lovers in a pond. Each has beautiful teeth and perfumed blood. the problem being; immortality's too fucking humbling by far. - from "Holy Mountain 2", pg. 35
BODY TO JOB by Christopher Zeischegg aka Danny Wylde
example:
The idea lived on in other people's minds. Those who knew me only by the hard cock they saw on screen. some believed my life was still the same. They said that i was still doing a good job (i.e., "keep it up"); that they wished their lives were so suffused with fun.
It was obnoxious, mostly. But then i remembered how I didn't used to fear spending time on useless ideas; how i blew all my extra money making work that existed in a vacuum. The works, and their practice, and since become hobbies. They were things i snuck away to.
I found the discussion of pornography as anything but conventional to be almost absurd. Yet I couldn't help but feel thankful toward those who made it clear that my profession wasn't real. Because i kept that somewhere inside of me, and i believed it every now and again. And though my memory was surely nostalgic, I remembered existing in some ethereal space where I could do what i wanted and might later "figure it out". - from "Afterlife: 12 Months After Retirement", pg. 189.
BOSUN + STUPID BABY by New Juche
example (Bosun):
This map is drawn from and inside my image, and will be lost, like a brittle seed-case fallen into the racing currents of Esk, as it flows down the right side of my splayed body, beneath the road and into the Abbey, under the stone bridges that once moved carts of medieval coal. The tarry piss in those red and green brick tanks laid out before the Leviathan seeps glacially downward too, into the vein that runs through the Betty Boop and the copse over the left side of my scalp, and joins with the Esk through the double-barreled tunnel that passes underneath my chest. This is surely why i had diarrhea so often. - from pg. 35.
example (Stupid Baby);
I remember very clearly the room in which Goong first jerked me off for money. I wanted very much to take her out of that room and at the same time to keep her inside it. The floor and walls of the room were completely tiled like a bathroom and illuminated harshly by a bare strip bulb. Although the room contained no sink or shower, tendrils of lime-scale and tea-coloured grime criss-crossed the walls like rotting fishnets. It smelt like a musty boiler-room and anal sex. I was no stranger to these squalid sex-hostels but i was incredulous that the staff had not even removed two used condoms and their wrappers that were stuck to the sheets. I'd never have expected them to change the sheet. I pulled off the sheet altogether and cast it into a corner. As i carefully took the finished cigarette from the corner of my mouth, Goong, in anticipation, pulled a large ceramic pot from under the bed. It was full of old condoms and rubbish fused into furry growths of matter. When my falling butt made contact it caused a plume of spores to mushroom out of this filth. I left the room for a shower, and then tried to summon an erection as i lay on the bare mattress waiting for Goong to return from hers. - from pg.22
THE DARKEST WEB by Eileen Ormsby
example:
What was disturbing was the appetite for viewing such material. Videos would turn up on websites dedicated to gore, with names like rotten.com, bestgore.com, and ogrish.com, that encouraged members to scour the web and find the most graphic and disturbing images and films possible of murders, suicides, torture, mutilations and accidents. The sites were competitive and tried to outdo each other with their depictions of real violence. They get millions of visitors, with the most graphic videos garnering hundreds of thousands of views and being shared widely among snuff sneekers.
People are provided the opportunity to comment on videos, and the lack of empathy, perhaps even psychopathy, evident in some comments is chilling.
This is a rip off.
You don't even get to see him die.
What fun is it if the victim is too drugged up to fight back?
I love the sound when the hammer goes in and then when he's trying to talk after lol.
Thats kinda cool... fucked but still awesome
I really don't care about the people he killed, I'm only sad about the kittens
This gave me an erection
Such incidents brought the snuff film closer to becoming a reality, but still nothing fit in with the popularly conceived notion of what a snuff film is. - from "Darkest: The internet and blurring the lines", pg. 255.
DREAMLAND TRASH by Dylan Krieger
example:
absence knows best
false eyes
found me out
i skin my rhyme
scheme from the ass down
rub a nickel
do a butterfly dive
outta the kitchen sink
when i was five
i burned my hymen
on a hanging
chandelier perhaps
half glass coffin
the only part i still
remember is the
part that fell away
btwn the heretical sheets
writhing like a centipede
ablaze in my ongoing
blazon about you i
say you're more
ram than lamb
more horny satanic
bleached rind on
the brambled path back
to unrighteous unconscious
i'm mixing myths again
but somewhere your head's
still full of serpents staring each
other down in the arid reflection
you find on the arc of the covenant's
surly gold surface disease realizing
after all this time you've actually
managed at long last to vampire
vanish ghost town evaporate
unlucky abduction disappear. - from pgs. 34 -35.
EVERYTHING TRUMP TOUCHES DIES by Rick Wilson
example:
The brightest, hottest, weirdest, shittiest star in the Trump constellation from the moment of The Donald's unexpected electoral victory was Steve Bannon. If you're looking for the white-hot center of Esoteric Trumpism, Bannon is its intellectual architect, once you get passed the homeless-drifter-with-a-hitchhiker's-head-in-his-backpack affect.
Bannon, a man who looks like the spokes model for a new line of gout medication, is know for his oddball sartorial choices; the multiple shirts, the tactical 'operator" pants, and the Barbour jacket are all hallmarks of his bus-shelter-chic style. Persistently rumpled, persistently grizzled, and persistently looking like he's been dragged over 30 miles of bad road, Bannon was no one's idea of the White House's dull but professional suit-and-tie culture. His rheumy-eyed stare and odd constellation of facial moles, warts, scrofula, weeping sores, and grizzled beard patches make him look vaguely piratical.
A devotee of the alt-right's favorite writers ("You haven't read Julius Evola in the original Italian? you're missing it all") and shoddy pop history like The Fourth Turning, Bannon is one of two types of DC intellectuals: the first type are nerds who have read everything and can't sell anything; the second is Bannon types who want you to think they've read everything and are out to sell themselves. - from "Chapter 14: Trump's Island of Misfit Toys - Steve Bannon", pg. 227.
INGRATITUDE by Peter Sotos
example:
It gets ugly, all this, it gets hard. It doesn't start out as ugly. Part of my recovery is that i know it will get uglier because of the way i keep remembering. This is what i do and what i want to do and that's why I'm supposed to change. Not can. There's no more qualification than, it must be obvious, it must be a problem then, that this, if not the best part of my time, is all i think about all of the time. - pg. 108.
LOST CONNECTIONS by Johann Hari
example:
You can survey people and ask them three things: are you lonely? are you depressed? are you anxious? Then you can match up the answers. If you do that, you always find that lonely people are much more likely to be depressed or anxious. But that doesn't get us very far - because depressed and anxious people often become afraid of the world, and of social interaction, so they tend to retreat from it. It could be that you become depressed first, and that in turn makes you lonely. But John suspected that it could possibly be the other way around - that if you become lonely, that might make you depressed. - from "Cause Two: Disconnection From Other People",, pg. 75.
MARTY PAGE by Martin Bladh
example:
We need to emphasize that this is not the Grand Guignol, and it has never been our intention to put on a titillating show in the Aristotelian sense. Our work is a deadlock which lacks catharsis. We have gradually become numb to aesthetic sensation. The stakes increase with time -
BODY COVERED WITH RED SPOTS - SUDDENLY TURN BLACKISH
HEAD BEGINS TO BOIL - GROWS OVERPOWERINGLY HEAVY -
COLLAPSES
fatigue - a centralized magnetic suction - molecules divided - drawn toward annihilation - from pg. 25
SWANS: SACRIFICE AND TRANSCENDENCE: AN ORAL HISTORY by Nick Soulsby + THE EGG by Michael Gira
example (Sacrifice and Transcendence):
LYDIA LUNCH: Mike Gira threatened to punch me, so i laughed in his face and told him to go ahead and do it, which is when he paid me one of the biggest compliments in my life: he told me i was "walking pornography"! I was writing for Forced Exposure, and he should have read my Pussy Galore review if he thought my review of The Burning World was harsh. I called it as i saw it, and i shouldn't be reviewing records by people i was friends with - I am a harsh critic. But i made it up to him. I thought The Consumer was one of the best books ever written - I think he forgave me after I wrote him a letter saying so. As someone who prides themselves on extremely fat-free music and writing, The Consumer was hugely impressive - there wasn't a stray word. Very few people achieve that because most people always plump things up. - from "8.0: Anonymous Bodies In An Empty Room: The Burning World 1988-89, pgs. 158-159.
example (The Egg):
12: His Name is Fuck
A succubus has come for me. I welcome her in my sleep. I very much want her to suffocate me. I want her tongue to wind down my throat. I want to taste the deadness of her breath, and i want it to fill my stomach. Lying on my back as she fucks me, my hands circle the sinuous ridges of her back and come away bloody. She calls my name as we work. Though the word is hot and wet as she presses it into my ear it sounds like it comes from an infinite distance. This word has traveled from some dead, utterly black region in space, somehow insinuated its way into her lifeless brain, then suffused my own mind with its poison, leaving me completely enslaved and irrevocably transformed. The word is fuck. My name is FUCK. - from pg. 59.
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