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Skullcrack City

Page 27

by Jeremy Robert Johnson


  continents submerged/the decay of a mouse/the aurora borealis/the end of the great-mouthed beasts/the sun grow dark.

  We recreated our spore form and drifted outside of the atmosphere in all directions and if you are hearing this then you know

  how far we have travelled.

  This is a data/voice algorithm designed to be decipherable by any intelligence we could,

  at this early stage,

  imagine might exist.

  If you can perceive this, the change has already begun.

  The change will be peaceful, so long as you understand what we were, what we became, and what you will soon be.

  First, I want to offer my sincere gratitude to the Wicklund and Johnson families for offering their enduring support and encouragement. None of this exists without you. And deepest thanks are due to my wife and son, who allowed me back into their lives even after I disappeared to a series of hotels and basements every weekend until this novel was completed.

  Second, heartfelt thanks go out to the following folks: Cody Goodfellow and Cameron Pierce for the late-stage editorial assist and inspiration; David Wong and Laird Barron, for taking time away from their brilliant work to read this book and offering such immensely kind words for the cover; J. David Osborne, for keeping my brain from stagnation and challenging me and making me laugh; the Swallowdown Press authors, for being graceful and supportive when I decided to put publishing on hiatus to write; Sam Pool, for the series of bar meetings and listening sessions which pushed this project into overdrive; Stephen Graham Jones, for inspiring me and convincing me that genre doesn’t exist (and giving me an incomparable point of comparison to prevent slacking); the Lemley family, for letting me work on this project in their basement even after I told them the FBI had visited me during the research stage; to Josh Boone and Mollie Glick, for showing up at precisely the right time and letting me know I just might survive as a writer; Christopher O’Riley, Ashley Crawford, Nancy Hightower, Gabino Iglesias, and Michael Seidlinger, for your support and the subversive act of introducing my writing to people who trust you; to Jack Ketchum, for proving that sometimes your heroes are even cooler than you’d believed.

  Third, thanks to the following musicians and albums for creating the headspace in which I could tolerate sitting for long lonely hours typing madness into a tiny machine: Ghostface Killah’s Supreme Clientele, Basement Jaxx’s Remedy, Purity Ring’s Shrines, Tool’s Aenima, Amon Tobin’s Live at Donaufestival, and the collected works of SPL, El-P, Christopher O’Riley, Vitamin String Quartet, Philip Glass, and Noisia.

  Fourth, big thanks to the guy at the beer station at Carts on Foster who “accidentally” overfills my growler and then hands me the excess 12oz over-pour. You, sir, are a national treasure.

  Finally, of course and as always, I want to thank You, for taking time out of your life to join me in this very strange place. So—Thank You.

  JRJ,

  June 2014

  Jeremy Robert Johnson is the author of the Wonderland Book Award-winning WE LIVE INSIDE YOU, the cult hit ANGEL DUST APOCALYPSE, the Stoker-nominated novel SIREN PROMISED (w/Alan M. Clark), and the end-of-the-world freak-out EXTINCTION JOURNALS. His fiction has been acclaimed by authors like Jack Ketchum and Chuck Palahniuk and has appeared internationally in numerous anthologies and magazines. In 2008 he worked with The Mars Volta to tell the story behind their Grammy-winning album The Bedlam in Goliath. In 2010 he spoke about weirdness and metaphor as a survival tool at the Fractal 10 conference in Medellin, Colombia (where fellow speakers included DJ Spooky, an MIT bio-engineer, and a doctor who explained the neurological aspirations of a sponge). He is working on a number of new books. You’ll just have to trust him on this.

  www.jeremyrobertjohnson.com

  Also from Lazy Fascist Press

  The Laughter of Strangers

  by Michael J Seidlinger

  “The Laughter of Strangers delivers a combination of psychological horror and strangeness that would not be out of place in a David Lynch film. Seidlinger’s weird new fight fiction suggests that perhaps the best place for boxing contests isn’t in the ring but between the pages of a book.”

  —The Los Angeles Times

  “Michael J. Seidlinger has given us the boxing novel of the year. The Laughter of Strangers is a tough and gritty book that will challenge you page after page, but it is oh so worth it.”

  —Flavorwire

  “The bare-bones prose within The Laughter of Strangers is heartbreaking, bleak, and stays with you long after finishing the book. This one should not be ignored.”

  —Frank Bill, author of Donnybrook

  “Like a ghost fretting over its lost body (or is it bodies?—in this book whatever you think of as ‘you’ might simply float like a butterfly right into someone else’s body) a boxer attests to his presence, damaged and shimmery though it may be. That this fractured first person narrator feels the need to put the word ‘me’ in quotes speaks volumes. Terrifying volumes. This elastic, hurtling narrative pivots (and pivots again) on a recurring image of almost unimaginable dread—that of being laughed at in your hour of need by an audience of strangers.”

  —Grace Krilanovich, author of The Orange Eats Creeps

  Available wherever books are sold.

  Also from Lazy Fascist Press

  Person

  by Sam Pink

  You see him at the liquor store. You see him at the bus stop, trying to look at you without being seen. Who is he? He is a person. In this debut novel, a person walks around Chicago contemplating the possibility of starving to death on purpose. He has sex with his neighbor. He goes out to look for a job but just buys little plastic dogs from homeless people instead. Who is the person? The person is you. The person is me. The person is sitting in his room shooting an empty pellet gun at his face, feeling the slow exhaustion of a Co2 cartridge. The person sits in a bathtub reading his roommate’s yearbook. He wants to create a contract mandating worldwide friendship. Person invents new and splendid ways of not getting along. You will read this book and remember why you mainly read books that have sex in them. You will become . . . a person.

  “If you read just one book this year, let it be Sam Pink’s Person.” —Electric Literature

  “It’s a compulsive page-turner [...] There’s something infectious, I think, about the honesty of the book, in how it relates the sometimes unflattering aspects of what goes on in a person’s daily life.” —The Faster Times

  “...there’s a troubling build-up of rage and self-destructive desire that makes Person incredibly unsettling. In other words, he’s a great example of why I carry Mace.

  —The Fanzine

  Available wherever books are sold.

  Also from Lazy Fascist Press

  The Last Horror Novel in the History of the World

  by Brian Allen Carr

  The black magic of bad living only looks hideous to honest eyes.

  Welcome to Scrape, Texas, a nowhere town near the Mexican border. Few people ever visit Scrape, and the unlucky ones who live there never seem to escape. They fill their days with fish fries, cheap beer, tobacco, firearms, and sex. But Scrape is about to be invaded by a plague of monsters unlike anything ever seen in the history of the world. First there’s La Llorona—the screaming woman in white—and her horde of ghost children. Then come the black, hairy hands. Thousands, millions, scurrying on fingers like spiders or crabs. But the hands are nothing to El Abuelo, a wicked creature with a magical bullwhip, and even El Abuelo don’t mean shit when the devil comes to town.

  “Carr’s magic shows in how he handles territory most would strand as genre. He fills the pages with magnetic, mostly sparse language, not far from how Robert Coover’s recreations bring new threads to a corpse. His new mythology, set right in the middle of nowhere that many would consider the heartland of our country, is new and old at once, sick and rhapsodic, alive and not afraid to die.” —Vice Magazine

  “The Last Horror Novel is quick and strange
, its pleasures diverse—from the poetic prose at the beginning, to its riffs on small town life and the horror genre, to the creep out of a swarm of hands.” —American Book Review

  Available wherever books are sold.

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