A lot of it has passed since I last posted here in the heart of the blackest fluid, the most noxious of semi-solids, the darkest of mucoused matter. The dark mucus blog. It's been long enough that I forgot my password and it took some hassle to get that sorted out today. So, this might be an occasion to turn that around, to visit this space a bit more, to reach out and share the stickiness again. Perhaps, hmmmm?
At the very least, I need to force my work down people's throats a little more, force them into becoming my benefactors, for I have come to a point where there is no longer any financial support available for me: I'm basically unemployable, and the money wolves have their teeth in my ankles, they want their money back, I'm running as fast as I can to escape them, but they've got me, like they've got everybody else, and I owe them so much fucking money that my only solution for the short term is to sell stuff, and the first things to go are my words, so buy a book and let's get things rolling so that I can, at the least, afford tube fare and vegetables until some office finally decides to let me in and offers me a further pittance.
I hereby introduce you to my newest little darling, my little nasty collection:
That's right. I've revived yt communication (at least temporarily?), which I had initially quit because it was far too much work to keep up, but now that I'm working hard at having no work, I might as well keep myself busy. Debuting in Germany last week, DWARF SURGE (or, dwarf surge, on certain copies, because there were only so many capital W's available in the limited number of dry-transfer lettering sheets I had on hand) has come into the world in a screaming bloody mess. It contains poems that will appear as part of a Veer book sometime next year. And a number of them are also already at The Claudius App, but wouldn't you love to hold your very own creamy card hand-sewn version in your hands? I think so. And I would love to send one to you, so I invite you to come on down to the little button on the right-hand side of this page (or see me in person) and indulge yourself in what may be shoddy handiwork, but is nice enough to look at and pretty fun to read and get confused by. This is my trade, words are my labour, and the world needs freakish words for hideous times.
So please, buy my book. It has 28 pages, it looks not bad, it reads not bad, and I will be forever grateful to you for your support.
P.S. I'm on the lookout for a guillotine, because I'm tired of hand-cutting everything. And somebody stole my long-armed stapler, and I know who you are, so come forward with it already. I am not amused. You've had it for years.