Thursday, March 22, 2012
Line-O-Rama for Stories To Poke Your Eyes Out To
My new collection of short dark fiction, Stories To Poke Your Eyes Out To. is now available on kindle from Barn Burner Books. To celebrate its release I'm doing another Line-O-Rama! I've compiled a single line from each of the 17 stories in STPYEOT in a method both scientific and random. It was exhausting. Think of it as a thirty second preview for a three hour movie. :) Behold, STORIES TO POKE YOUR EYES OUT TO LINE-O-RAMA!
HEART OF AN ANGEL- The demon parakeet never did anything but howl and curse, froth and spit, and occasionally make all the meat in the cabin go rotten at once.
REAL LOVE BURNS (STPYEOT REMIX)- The black dog doubled over with raspy laughter as they skinned my sweetheart with beaks and claws and teeth and talons.
POISONED MEAT- Bobby nodded his understanding and David continued, "Make no mistake, Bobby, we are hunters, and we are hunting. We are hunting poisoned meat, and it fights back."
ROADSIDE CROSSES- Insecurity warps into jealousy warps into paranoia warps into rage.
CONVERSING DOCTOR DEFEO- "And here I was jumping to the conclusion- a fair and easy error to make- that your mother was an uneducated whore and your father merely her swiftest and fiercest relative as your previous conversational etiquette indicated."
CORPSE EATER- A strange dragging trail of the black ash-covered slime leads up the hallway to the room with the dead climber in it.
HUMAN AS A VULTURE- Taillights in front of you glow red, angry at your impatience.
DISASTERNOON- "I have hopes and dreams," she tells me because she can't stop lying.
BONE HOME- Hold my hand, my dear, as we walk the grim halls and rotted rooms of Bone Home.
THE MAN WITH THE ZAFTIG GRIN- Blood bubbles over his hefty lips to trickle down chin insignificant.
ALL THAT GLIMMERS ISN'T COPPER- He holds the breath, tastes the blood and dirt, before swallowing it into his chest.
MC STITCHES- He sits in his basement cage, composing the dopest beats humankind has ever dared to imagine.
AMPUTEE DISCO AND THE LORD OF THE GROOVE- The second time, I realized the voice was coming from a limbless man wrapped in neon sheets and lying on a small couch facing the dance floor.
SOUL IN MY THROAT- Sometimes gristle looks just like meat.
SO PROUDLY THEY CRAWL- Rex also happens to be the leader of Hitler's Hammer: a racist cult of rednecks and skinheads that controls a small army of meth-head Satanists throughout the area.
THE SELF-MUTILATION BLUES- It's a suicide note you can dance to, baby.
TEMPER LIKE A HAMMER- The furious cries and curses of unbridled rage ring through the air, dozens of different languages and dialects twsiting into a maelstrom of irate resonance.
THE DEVIL'S BATH SHACK- He held a sign that read, "Gunmetal Tastes Like Cherry" scrawled in black Sharpie.
Grab your kindles (knives) and get to reading (bleeding) HERE!