Latest installment, here, of VAGABONDS: ANTHOLOGY OF THE MAD ONES. Check it out----this is a ballsy journal and my short story, "Shit Flavored Shit", is a part of it.....
DISEMBODIED TIRADE #1
unceasingly, and what rips in my moribund headhell is the distant, lonely ghostyowl of the hound two towns over.....it raises cold, ominous, frightfully isolated in the stillhush of the sad night. You, dear, you ask when you finally reach that fabled edge, “what is it that you see?” I tell you I see the thing that makes the alleycats screech in the pitch----what brings on madness and sets the animal-men running, brawling---when no one is attentive and you're lurking and poking behind your curtain of false security, that gossamer-flimsy veneer slips, flutters, smashes into a million pieces. The Collective Soul rolls about snapping and drooling and shitting; it stares into me with predatorial alarm, caught with its proverbial knickers dangling---wander away, it growls, wander away, and it blunders to readjust its sloppy, disheveled visage. Revelation. And who has been raped, you or me? Knowledge is Trauma, and the
copyright 1994 C.F. Roberts/2015 Molotov Editions
The Disembodied Tirades were part of a non-linear "Novella" I did (and I put the word "novella" in quotes because it's not like it had a plot or definitive characters in it or anything----) called RED, WHITE, BLACK AND BLUE, back in the late 90s. Mostly just an insano word salad that said, "life is horrific and the world is run by and for terrible people and we're all screwed and we all crowd around the TV every night, watch it and love every minute of it". Simple, eh? One writer friend critiqued it and said it was probably, on the whole, too derivative of Burroughs, which is probably an apt criticism. A lot of the chapters or subchapters did end up getting run in some small presses. The Tirades were just these little angsty interstitial prose blasts between chapters. There were about four of them, I think.