Tag Archives: underground literature

Splatter von Rainbow (my new book) published today

27 May

I’m terrifically excited to announce that my newest book, Splatter von Rainbow, is available for purchase today through the usual monopolized channels. Its genesis and completion was a strange and windy road. It started off as a sort of competition piece for a press that did not release it; they’d asked that I do something inspired by John Waters, Thomas Ligotti, and Alejandro Jodorowsky, if memory serves, which it usually doesn’t. Yet, upon searching an old email from 2015, here was the original proposal: “4. A 70s b-movie adaptation of Thomas Ligotti directed by the love child of Alejandro Jodorowsky and John Waters.

“A mannikin falls in love with a drag queen without arms and a detachable head which has floated away to outer space. They decide to elope, but the mannikin has previously been cursed and made a devilish deal with a headless horseman sorcerer who banishes them to exist permanently in a dream within a dream in order to fulfill his earlier promise of making the mannikin a real woman at long last. They end up as slaves to a monstrous reptile race on an endless desert where they must strip and fornicate with monsters for the enjoyment of the reptiles to gain closer eyeball proximity in their glass helmets at night. Only by killing visions of their unborn children will holographic images of them appear in each other’s cells at midnight so they might one day perform a simulacrum of making love and both retract their souls back to the two eternal warrior women they have lived and loved as through an infinite number of past lives.”

The end result, after years of revisions, second-guesses, is quite different, as the new synopsis will attest (browsable through the usual monopolized channels).

Working on this book has been an unusual and beautiful experience, maybe even more so than other works I’ve attempted to craft, in its various transformations—but what stands out most is my experience working and living and Bolivia, during which I wrote the bulk of it and to which I returned and expanded over the years, reflecting upon and journeying through both the real and unreal feelings I experienced during that time.

I remember one afternoon composing some of its best sections during a feverish daydream while my wife and her art instructor wandered off in Valley de Las Animas. It was an unforgettable afternoon, one which will remind me for the rest of my life of the transformative experience of creating art, the thrill of composition, the endless channelling of chilling yet alluring voices from a beyond, an extension and questioning of what it means to be human, an expansion and treading past the very realms of existence itself.

Thanks to Nihilism Revised, S.C. Burke, and all the writes, friends, and readers who challenged and questioned me along the way.

Review: Collected Works of Scott McClanahan Vol. 1 (Lazy Fascist Press; 2012)

18 Oct


Mud-Puppies and Catfish girls stomping change, crusty dollars, and irritated receipts in the muddy grass of a backyard. Deer run over again and again until undead, then beaten with a steel thermos as the morning ran screaming away…harmed and insulted by the blazed brains’ pride. Happy to lose arms, watching the blood spurt while calmly smoking. Ace!

Bologna sandwich throwing bums offer mirrors on their shoes, which may suck and twist you in then spit you back out as conjoined with a bum mutant, the hairs bristling from the beard to reach for cheap burgers and cheap beer. Bike rider’s running chainsaws without gears in their bikes, searching for blue horizons on which to chew. Cars that come for you when you think of them smashing bones into mashed ashes while a narrator too cowardly to help runs and causes more accidents, placing himself on the high pedestal of Charlie in Firestarter.

Mysterious epiphanies in strip clubs. Humiliating cross-dressing escapades, partly forced by chance and miscommunication but partly chosen and longed-for. Eerie phone calls with young girls, breathing fiery holograms and playing devilish tricks on the moral balance of slippery narratives. Stubborn jail cells with rubbery bars.

Good Samaritans dream of kissing Bukowski, or eating three piece fish dinners while daydreaming about the racetrack. Kidney stones shaped like crucifixes: a passing mirror for all other secrets. Lonely telemarketers craving a mark and target in the sighing telephone-pole night.

Dead broke pizza thieves sitting in an observation tower watching a cheating father figure cough up blood in chunks of hope calluses. Hairspray brain Grease songs echoing in a witch-cursed bookstore, the ghost of Walt Whitman erasing all of the future pages of books maybe written in other folds of your eyes.

“The Prisoners”–my favorite story in the collection–is unexpected, wise, human, and shocking. Told in McClanahan’s characteristically breezy/greasy and informal style that reminds me a bit of Sam Pink but is less sociopathic in tone and a bit more poetic and dreamy, though no less grounded in a mundane but immediately relevant and compelling yet terrifying reality.

Abbreviated suicide notes drift from paper shredders in abandoned offices where vents wish for shredded paper to feel like snow drifting by.

Forgotten teachers, faded students. Old ladies shoplifting string beans, lonely cashiers. Benevolent futures predicted with a haunting certainty. Waiting on the phantom coal train to sing from West Virginia.

Check out The Collected Works of Scott McClanahan Vol. 1 here

10 records found under Karen’s(character from First Aide Medicine) closet floorboards

27 Sep





The Gun Club - Fire of Love -