Wednesday, January 6, 2021
Monday, January 4, 2021
Sunday, January 3, 2021
Saturday, January 2, 2021
RIP DAVID BRITTON
"David Britton wrote books that weren't novels so much as middle fingers. In the dull wasteland of contemporary letters, he stood out for his singularity of vision, ferocity of style, and opposition to authority. His books will endure—the Grim Reaper can take away the man's body but not his words, his ideas, or the example of his defiance. David Britton is dead. Long live Lord Horror!" — Keith Seward
after the 2019 came-and-wenting of my first published book PIECEMEAL, i didn't receive much feedback, but the micro-attention that i did get would often invoke the name "Burroughs".
i would graciously accept that comparison, but i would also take care to mention 2 other authors who i feel had a more overwhelming influence on not just PIECEMEAL, but the maybe-possibly-perhaps forthcoming follow-up works.
the first author was Pierre Guyotat, who passed early in 2020.
the second author was David Britton, who passed late in 2020,
quite the bookends there, eh?
David Britton's LORD HORROR universe of novels, comic books, and audio media propell beyond the fading pale echoes of "splatterpunk", "cosmic dread", "dark enlightenment", "apocalypse culture", and/or "transgressive" literature, occupying a singular terrain of murderously comedic, humorously savage stress-dream ventilations that overwhelm the reader with its densely populated tapestry of relentless obscenity, rudderless pop music footnotes, and gleefully retold factoids of unforgiving human atrocity.
recommended with the highest possible encouragement and enthusiasm.
Friday, January 1, 2021
YEAHYEAHYEAHYEAH.
i get it,
you get it,
we. all. get. it.
reducing the metaphysical geek-show that was 2020 to memetic sass and redundantly sardonic one liners really does a disservice to how unbelievably destructive and just plain fucking stupid all this shit was.
for me personally, i once again find myself on the sidelines of the writing game. having suddenly and unceremoniously fallen out with the publisher of my previous collection, PIECEMEAL. guess it was inevitable, as the last check i got for that shit was in cunting August, amounting to not even 10 fucking dollars.
a sensible person would pack it in after such complete and utter indifference to a decade's worth of unloaded mental and emotional anguish, but being a big stupid dummy since the goddamn 1990s, i ended up writing like 3 more books, novels that i truly feel eclipse and bury PIECEMEAL, or at least make it retroactively more, as much of the ideas, themes, characters, myths, etc of that work are expanded in ways that i feel are unexpected and satisfying, nevermind the styles, tones, aesthetics, pathos, atmospheres, and voices being more varied than the somewhat wearing attempts at reaching for those beyond-the pale transgressive lows.
but let's not further jinx this shit, eh?
2021; who the fuck know?
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