Decayke 2: Guts and Stuff, or Contents

This is the second official issue of newly appellated DECAYKE, come over from its afore, long-winded, name (name) ((name)) (((n-a-m-e))) that was thunk in a Ajax blizzard across Texas, dead of night, middle of the fifth season under the tenth ruby sun subjected by the panoptical belleye which lolls and rolls in the dragon’s green to greener chub tho-rax, his all-oppressive gaze both frozen and torrid fuckin’ hot. That what it does to you.

Thanks to everyone involved, them that braved the unabated and cascading crystalline grains of the Trichlorocyanuric Acid sandsea, near-put impossible to navigate but beatific nonetheless, headlong into blistering, boil-popping gusts while sailing this orbis in extremis an’it’s noxious man-taint, under the tenth ruby sun, midterm fifth season at the beginning of the end let it be known. Hear ye! The sands is the sea. Nostril sail on, nostril sail on.

They are, in horizontal order: Andy Bolus, Helga Fassonaki, Karl Max, Fred Rinne, Mike Rep, I write it as I thank it, Mark Lunt, Dario P., R. Nuuja, El Topo, John Shirley and

Did you know that Francis Bacon once said that if brevity is the soul of wit, then I’ll fuck off your handcuffs and slash your wrists? Well now ye do. Remember it and may it serve-you-well. .


Special thanks to Karl Max for his cover art: “I saw Sarah in my sleep 71.”

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