Ordinary events like checking into a hotel are altered due to the estrangement of our narrator and then sparkle with alien sheen of newness.
The flapping wings of death birds. If you know your party’s extension, please. If you know your party’s extension then listen to the sound of a malevolent voice repeating “gin, gin, gin, gin, gin.”
The details are mundane yet the feeling of work’s numbing effects ring universal.
The rumblings of secret slaughters heard inside a pillow.
Sheer majesty pollutes the sky and harms Jessica. She mouths words she wishes were bombs as she watches the brains and machines from above.
Black eggs in the king’s stomach.
All the fingernails in the kingdom throw tantrums.
Bland interviews at work with ominous undercurrents.
A theater made of drugged diamond planes.
Mummies make love to library books.
Sentient beings are buildings in this false magic kingdom being typewritten alongside b-movies requiring tracking adjustments to alter and skewer the clarity of their plot lines.
There’s definitely a Burroughs and Ballard influence on this work and even a bit of Joyce during one chapter of clashing speech and thoughts. It is not much like the bizarro western entitled A Fistful of Feet I previously read by Krall. Definitely unique and suggestive but those wishing for a traditional narrative might find themselves scratching their heads while drooling.
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