My life is totally colonized now by financial matters. The results? It kills the time to create, to continue to work on pieces of exceptional quality, content that you cannot find in other spaces. It’s sad. Face it: capitalism is a parasite, and it has you one way or the other.
The interview with Andy Bolus. Not a a typical Q&A, rather a radical shift of verbal language to the impression of ideas through sound. Absurd, funny, open to interpretation….and stunted by loathsome economic necessities, destroyer of life.
The John Shirley interview will make its appearance later at Michael Moorcock’s New Worlds website and be offered for free. Special thanks to James DC for introducing me to Roger of New Worlds. It also turns out that John is going to contribute a story for the issue. It’s been a pleasure to be involved in this. And against the odds, it came to fruition, as will my other projects, by sheer will, even if I end up starving.
Human beings are better than this. Human beings are better than capitalism. It’s sad to think that people conceive of the exploitation of others and our limited resources as the pinnacle of mankind. It’s also infuriating. What’s more, it doesn’t even make sense. Capital insists that it must always grow, yet we live in world of finite resources. This is, at its core, an oxymoronic problem that cannot be reconciled save for some breakthrough that will turn algae into renewable fuel. Even, then, if that happens, we will all still be pimped out by the privileged few. What a sad debacle of life that is.
So I give you this today.
The day the sun went mad. The radioactive nucleus rose fast enveloping the bronze horizon over seas of acid highlighted by silvery rainbow corpses lazily tossing atop white crests and popping like cheap corks punctuating oceanic heaves , sea pus and foam from the earth’s drained gut, the death rattle rhythm drowning Interstate diesel transport trucking phallic telegrams not meant for any response below sentient grasping rays accelerating methodically, intertwining through sulfur clouds pouring into my desiccated skin, eating and shitting my burnt up cells. Cracks in the decaying concrete look up into my dripping eyes and see inside dilated eruptions of manic neural shrapnel, broken signals of digested visual data tuned to a dead station, screaming like ricocheting bullets, heretic ass fuckers as endless cascades of luminous sparks blue to orange then yellow burning up giant red love lusting diseased hearts, we drop one by one into mounds of worthless ash, careening flashes blinding us all like a virus of ultimate madness, transformed analog static lashing us into submission now its agent, defining our next move as if there were a choice, the sun rising and burning behind shut eyes, jugular lacerations each particle a scalpel, precision crescent gashes splayed gullets, words on fire free of their dominating larynx to flow by building volumes down the streets of the world and infect the seas in our world of incest and vomit.