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Dong, Peter Sotos and Sam Salatta (TransVisceral Books 2022) (with limited-edition CD and full-color instruction booklet)

It started with a tweet:

My dong is bigger than your dong!

– Sam Salatta (@PsychoSalatta)

No, my dong is bigger than YOURS.

– Peter Sotos (@PeterSotos)

And MINE frightens children.

– Peter Sotos (@PeterSotos)

So does mine.

– Sam Salatta (@PsychoSalatta)

Prove it!

– Peter Sotos (@PeterSotos)

The challenge was made: the contest was on. And so Sotos and Salatta set out to compare dongs, and frighten children, on an extensive tour of Europe and South America. But their head-to-head heresiarchomachy will have come as no surprise to those who were aware that the deviant duo are not just keyly committed core components of the counter-cultural community, but also corely committed key components of the campanological community.

Yes, that’s right: Sotos and Salatta are dedicated tuggers and tossers. They tug a rope – and high above a bell tosses, pealing forth the joyous dings-and-dongs of which they are both rightly proud. Bell-ringing is a tradition that has run in the Sotos and Salatta families for generations. It’s part craft, part sport, demanding both skill and strength, as you’ll see in the accompanying instruction-booklet and hear on the accompanying CD. You don’t get a big dong just by tugging and hoping. As in drumming, the loudest performers combine physicality with finesse.

Sotos and Salatta have both in spades, but I still can’t believe that (as reported here) they managed to deploy their dongs for eight hours straight in a country church in Bavaria. Were stimulants involved? The deviant duo aren’t saying and maybe they’re right not to respond to the accusations. If you want to discover for yourself quite how tricky the apparently simple task of pulling off a big dong can be, the accompanying booklet gives you full instructions on how to join the über-esoteric and ultra-exciting world of campanology.

And whatever the controversies, one thing is certain: with the release of Dong, TransVisceral Books have come up toxic trumps again, forging an incendiary benchmark that leaves all other extreme publishers coughing in their dust and scrambling to claw back mephitic market-share in the agora of abjection.


Previously pre-posted on Papyrocentric Performativity…

Toxic Twosome – review of Doll by Peter Sotos
K-9 Konundrum – review of Dog by Peter Sotos

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As the toxic stench of Trump fades further in our nevertheless-still-traumatized nostrils, how better to continue the year here at Papyrocentric Performativity than with an exclusive extract from the forthcoming compendium Morbidlier Miriam: Interviews, Out-Takes and Interrogations Around the Psychoanalyst of the Century (TransVisceral Books 2021)? Huh?

The “Psychoanalyst of the Century” is, of course, that long-standing Papyrocentric favorite Dr Miriam B. Stimbers, whom we join as she and a closely committed colleague contemplate core issues around what many believe to be Dr Stimbers’ finest work to date: the epoch-erecting, paradigm-pulverizing Jane in Blood: Castration, Clitoridolatry and Communal Cannibalism in the Novels of Jane Austen (University of Nebraska Press 2014)…

Rebecca Rubinberg: Miriam, can I just say at the very outset that it is so good to see you back and looking so well after the unfortunate events of late 2020? [Editor’s note: Miriam slumped into a coma in September 2020 due to unendurable trauma around white racism and white supremacy.]

Miriam Stimbers: Thank you, Rebecca. It’s good to be back for me, also.

Rebecca Rubinberg: You know, your coma was a difficult time, a truly difficult time, for me, for so many of your friends and admirers. One moment we’d be experiencing a jolt of joy in terms of the political situation. You know, it would strike us: “He’s gone, he’s gone! That pure-bred SOB is gone, gone, gone! He’s finally gone!” Next moment, we’d crash back to earth in terms of our friendship with you: “Hey, but Miriam’s still in a coma!”

Miriam Stimbers: Many people have said this to me since my recovery, that their joy around his departure was constantly counterpointed by their distress around my coma-situation. And I thank you all for it. It’s truly humbling to think of how many good people, decent people, had me in their thoughts on such a regular basis.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Regular as clockwork, Miriam. But we also had you on our reading lists! So many people have said to me that they began re-reading your books during your coma, in a kind of psychic solidarity. We weren’t just thinking of you – in a sense, we were thinking as you, whilst reading your books. And, of course, we all redoubled our efforts to introduce your books to new readers, to as many new readers as possible.

Miriam Stimbers: Again, thank you, thank you so much.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Believe me, promoting your work is no hardship. I’ve always loved – and particularly so in your case – I’ve always loved introducing new folk to one of my favorite authors. As I’ve always said: we can only read a classic for the first time once. But we can do the next-best thing as many times as we like. And the next-best thing is persuading someone else to read that classic for the first time. Your back-catalog is bursting with classics, but one book invariably comes to mind when one is considering the much-vexed “Best Book” question in terms of the Stimbibliography, as your close-knit fan-community have come to call it. That one book is, of course, Jane in Blood: Castration, Clitoridolatry and Communal Cannibalism in the Novels of Jane Austen (University of Nebraska Press 2014).

Miriam Stimbers: Again, thank you, thank you so much. I’m glad that so many people have appreciated Jane in Blood and have said so many good things about it.

Rebecca Rubinberg: It’s easy to say good things about Jane in Blood, Miriam! Very easy. But let’s just get one small but essential issue thoroughly engaged before we discuss the book further. That wonderful word in the subtitle, “clitoridolatry” – am I saying it right? – yes, “clitoridolatry”. Almost invariably people who notice that word in the subtitle, that truly wonderful word, will ask: “What the hell does it mean?” ’Cept they don’t usually say “the hell”! You know the kind of folk I associate with! So let’s engage that small but essential issue. “Clitoridolatry” – what does it mean?

Miriam Stimbers: At its simplest, it means clitoris-worship.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Wow. Clitoris-worship. Clitoridolatry means worship-of-the-clitoris. A wonderful word, a wonderful concept. Clit-or-id-o-latry, worship of the amazing, the awesome, the oh-so-often-and-unjustly-overlooked clitoris. And I hope we’ll explore issues around the clitoris, around clitoridolatry, around Jane Austen and the clitoris, in a little more depth before the end of our time together. In the meantime, let me say this, Miriam: if creation of that wonderful word and exploration of that wonderful concept were all you did in Jane in Blood, it would make the book pure gold. Yes, pure gold. Enough to justify your career ten times over, believe me. But that word and that concept are only part of Jane in Blood. A central part, an essential part, but only a part! Wow. Accordingly, I have to say it. “Classic” is not a strong enough word for Jane in Blood. Uh-uh. No way. “Core classic”, no, that’s not strong enough either. I’d go with “cataclysmic classic”. Clitoridolatrically cataclysmic classic! How does that sound?

Miriam Stimbers: It sounds both tongue-twisting and very flattering.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Flattering shmattering, Miriam! I am being sincere here, totally sincere. Jane in Blood is a cataclysmic classic, a clitoridolatrically cataclysmic classic. And I’m not the only one who believes that. Indeed, I know that, on a daily basis, there are many new folk who come to believe the same.

Miriam Stimbers: I’d like to think so.

Rebecca Rubinberg: No, you gotta know so, Miriam. There are, there most definitely are, many new folk who, on a daily basis, are introduced to Jane in Blood and instantly recognize it as a cataclysmic classic. And I do my best to swell their numbers, believe me! As I’ve told you before, one thing I love to do is this, it’s that I hand new folk a copy of Jane in Blood and I say, you know, I say casually, “Try this, see what you think”, and I watch them open it and begin reading. And I just wait, I really do, I just wait for the magical moment at which I see their jaws drop. And invariably their jaws do drop!

Miriam Stimbers (laughing): Well, so you’ve always told me.

Rebecca Rubinberg: And I wouldn’t lie to you, Miriam. Never would I lie to you. And I’ll just add this: 2’38”. That’s the longest it’s taken so far for a jaw to drop. I time them, you see. I hand them a copy of Jane in Blood and I say “Try this” and I watch them and I time them. I time them from the moment they open the book till the moment their jaws drop. Chang! Just like that, down drops the jaw. And 2’38”, that’s the longest I’ve seen so far, I kid you not. But the average time till jaw-drop must be well under a minute. On my gyno’s life!

Miriam Stimbers (laughing again): Well, it’s a challenging book.

Rebecca Rubinberg: It is certainly that – and much more beside! But do you yourself believe, as I do, as many, many of your admirers do, that it is your best book?

Miriam Stimbers: I truly couldn’t say. I could say, perhaps, that it was – that it has been – my most fulfilling book to date. You know, it’s been the book in which I felt that I had come closest to saying all I wanted to say in the best possible way I could. So yes, I could say, I would say, that it’s been my most fulfilling book to date.

Rebecca Rubinberg: It’s fulfilled you, Miriam, and it’s fulfilled me, and it’s fulfilled many, many people. But not all people, by no means, because not everyone responds to it positively. Some people, most people, respond positively, very positively. A work of genius, I’ve had people tell me. An unforgettable book, a groundbreaking book, a work of scholarship like no other they had ever read or imagined possible. Yes, positive responses, many, many positive responses. But as you yourself are only too well aware, with those many, many positive responses come not a few negative responses.

Miriam Stimbers: Yes.

Rebecca Rubinberg: For example, I’ve had one individual – and forgive me, but I’m going to be completely candid around what he said. I’ve had one individual – I won’t name him here, you know him, I won’t name him – I’ve had one individual tell me that Jane in Blood is bullshit. Yes, his exact words. Complete bullshit, he told me, bullshit on steroids, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Forgive me, but that’s he said. And he said more. Shouted rather – jabbing a finger aggressively, very aggressively in my face. This Stimbers, he shouted, what is she, some kind of crackpot? Is she on mind-altering drugs? I mean, look at her spouting this bullshit, this complete bullshit, over so many pages. Or maybe she’s a joker, a satirist? Because where’s her evidence? There is no cannibalism in the novels of Jane Austen, communal or otherwise, he shouted. None, none, none, none whatsoever. There’s no castration, there’s no clitor-whatever-the-fuck. It’s bullshit, complete bullshit. Forgive me, but that’s what he said. And/or shouted.

Miriam Stimbers: That is, if I may say, a very male reaction.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Miriam, you took the words right out of my mouth. Very male. A very male reaction.

Miriam Stimbers: Asking for evidence like that.

Rebecca Rubinberg: And for logic, also. He specifically said also that was no logic in your quote fucking bullshit thesis unquote. His exact words. No logic in her fucking bullshit thesis, unquote.

Miriam Stimbers: Yes, that’s a very male reaction, asking for evidence and logic. That isn’t how Freudian analysis works, how psychoanalysis, in the deepest sense of the words, works. Not at all. Of course, yes, on the surface, as this unpleasantly aggressive individual said to you, there is no communal cannibalism in the novels of Jane Austen. Castration, also, and clitoridolatry, yes, on the surface, they’re not there.

Rebecca Rubinberg: On the surface, yes, of course. They’re not there. But Jane in Blood dives beneath the surface.

Miriam Stimbers: Exactly. It dives beneath the surface, into the depths, into the darkness. Because I wanted to ask why – why, on the surface, is there no communal cannibalism in the novels of Jane Austen? And the next step is obvious: Okay, it’s not there on the surface, so what is Jane trying to hide? Because she’s a writer, a human being, we all try to hide things, continually, consciously, subconsciously, from ourselves and from others. And by not writing about communal cannibalism, is Jane not, in a very real sense, highlighting the absence of communal cannibalism and thereby, to the psychoanalytic eye, bringing that unwritten-of communal cannibalism to the forefront of her ostensibly innocent narrative? Because Freud teaches us that the less something is there, the more in fact it may actually be there.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Less is more?

Miriam Stimbers: Exactly. Less is more. And so it’s precisely when something is not there at all that in fact it may be most there of all.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Absence is presence!

Miriam Stimbers: Yes, as I write in the book, absence is presence. The insistence on not being there powers the creation ex nihilo, as it were. Because, in a sense, a very real sense, the less something is there, the more we can see that it’s being suppressed, the more we know that energy is being poured into denying something, into saying – saying by not saying – no, no, I’m not interested in this topic, I’m not attracted to this forbidden thing. And when something is not there at all, it’s being suppressed most of all, being repressed most of all. You can’t get more repressed than total absence. And so by insisting so vehemently on not writing about communal cannibalism, on the surface, Jane Austen is, in a psychoanalytic sense, writing about nothing but communal cannibalism. All roads lead to communal cannibalism, as it were.

Rebecca Rubinberg: And to castration, clitoridolatry, also.

Miriam Stimbers: Yes, to these topics, also. On the surface, Jane Austen avoids them completely. And that precise absence, for any sensitive psychoanalyst, must immediately raise a red flag.

Rebecca Rubinberg: A blood-red flag?

Miriam Stimbers: Yes. You put it very well. A blood-red flag. Why is Jane avoiding these very dangerous topics? Why is she censoring herself so ruthlessly, so effectively?

Rebecca Rubinberg: Because she’s scared of these topics?

Miriam Stimbers: In a sense, yes, because she’s scared of these topics, and in a sense, no, not because she’s scared, but because she’s attracted. She’s attracted to these topics, to these dangerous, these oh-so-dangerous deeds. And she’s scared of being attracted, so she censors herself, she reassures herself that, no, I don’t want to do these things, these dark, dangerous things. But really she does. She does want to do them.

Rebecca Rubinberg: She wants to castrate the patriarchs who are oppressing her?

Miriam Stimbers: Yes, she wants to castrate them.

Rebecca Rubinberg: And she wants her clitoris worshipped?

Miriam Stimbers: Yes, she wants it worshipped.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Good and proper?

Miriam Stimbers: Yes, good and proper.

Rebecca Rubinberg: But most of all, she wants to take part in a cannibal feast? In communal cannibalism?

Miriam Stimbers: Yes, most of all she wants communal cannibalism, she wants to feast on forbidden flesh in the company of others.

Rebecca Rubinberg: And that’s what she wants most of all, because that’s what she’s writing about least of all.

Miriam Stimbers: Precisely. Less is more, least is most, absence is presence. And that’s when you see the “evidence” that the male mind is always so eager for. When you know that communal cannibalism is there in the novels of Jane Austen after all, you can decipher the linguistic codes speaking around it, you can interpret the symbolism, you can take the mask off the seemingly innocent descriptions of life in that seemingly oh-so-genteel world and discover, underneath, a seething chaos of repressed Dionysiac energies and impulses, just waiting to erupt.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Miriam, you put it so beautifully. And you put it even beautifullier in the book. Thus, for me, for so many people, you establish your quote bullshit fucking thesis unquote beyond peradventure. You lay out your thesis and you prove it. The novels of Jane Austen are not what readers, what literary scholars, have so long assumed them to be. They are lecherous, they are libidinous, they are – what was the word you used? – seething, yes, seething with repressed energies and emotions.

Miriam Stimbers: Seething with repressed Dionysiac energies and impulses. Just waiting to erupt.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Erupt, yes. As you put it in chapter 17, I believe, Jane Austen didn’t just have a vulva between her legs, she had a volcano!

Miriam Stimbers: Yes, chapter 17, pages 281 to 285, I write of the Austenic vulva-volcano, the vulvano. I was, I am, particularly pleased with that conceit.

Rebecca Rubinberg: Not without reason, Miriam! And so, contra the critics, Jane in Blood proves everything it sets out to prove. There is, there are indeed castration and clitoridolatry and communal cannibalism in the novels of Jane Austen. Absence is presence! However loudly a particular individual – whom, as I said, I’m not going to name – however loudly he might shout “Bullshit!” However many times he might claim your quote bullshit fucking thesis unquote is bereft of evidence and logic.

Miriam Stimbers: In fact, the louder he shouts, the more he confirms my thesis. That aggressive reaction, that very male reaction to the absence of quote evidence and logic unquote in Jane in Blood is precisely what Freud would have predicted. When so much hostility, so much aggression, so much energy is poured into denying a psychoanalytic thesis, these things are very good signs that the thesis is on target, is correct.

Rebecca Rubinberg: So let me unpack what you’re saying there. You’re saying that the more angrily he shouts that there’s no evidence for communal cannibalism in the novels of Jane Austen, the more he’s providing evidence that, in fact, there is communal cannibalism in the novels of Jane Austen? Yes?

Miriam Stimbers: Yes. That’s the paradox, the Freudian paradox, the very beautiful Freudian paradox. The more opposition we meet in advancing an allegedly baseless, allegedly evidence-free and logic-less psychoanalytic thesis, the more we can be sure that the thesis is in fact correct.

Rebecca Rubinberg: That is indeed beautiful, Miriam. So beautiful. The deniers deny themselves, destroy themselves. The more they insist on the nullity of a psychoanalytic thesis, the more they prove that the thesis is correct.

Miriam Stimbers: Yes. And there, once again, you have the genius of Dr Sigmund Freud.

[…]

Here ends the exclusive extract from Morbidlier Miriam: Interviews, Out-Takes and Interrogations Around the Psychoanalyst of the Century (TransVisceral Books 2021). To read the rest of the interview – and much more beside! – be sure to grab a copy of the book when it appears later this year. Sign up for updates at TransVisceral Books.

Previously Pre-Posted on Papyrocentric Performativity

#MiToo — a review of Morbidly Miriam: The Mephitic Memoirs of Miriam B. Stimbers, Dr Miriam B. Stimbers (TransVisceral Books 2018)
Doc Proc — a review of Botty: An Unnatural History of the Backside, Dr Miriam B. Stimbers (TransVisceral Books 2014)
Twice Has Thrice the Vice — Miriam processes the grieving-process of losing a core fish-community

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Morbidly Miriam: The Mephitic Memoirs of Miriam B. Stimbers, Dr Miriam B. Stimbers (TransVisceral Books 2018)

(This is a guest-review by Dr Benjamin H. Rubinberg)

Miriam Stimbers is, in my opinion, the most important psychoanalyst at work anywhere in the world today. When she began her career, the prospects within academia for psychoanalysis must have seemed less than rosy. Unrelentingly vicious and increasingly underhand attacks had been made on Freud’s golden legacy since the end of the Second World War. We had been told that psychoanalysis was irrational and anti-empirical, authoritarian and misogynistic, that it was a pseudo-scientific cult for the superstitious, simplistic and statistically illiterate.

Miriam responded to these attacks by defiantly taking Freudian techniques to new heights of psychoanalytic sophistication and seismographic subtlety. She began her career detecting “Angst, Abjection and Anthropophagy” in the seemingly carefree music of Suzi Quatro. She went on to unearth “Barbarism, Brutalism and Bestial Bloodlust” in the apparently mild-mannered music of Simon and Garfunkel. More recently, in what is perhaps her greatest triumph to date, she has laid bare “Castration, Clitoridolatry and Communal Cannibalism” in the superficially ‘civilized’ novels of Jane Austen. And anyone who has read a single paragraph in any one of these jaw-dropping studies must have asked her- or himself: What is the back-story of the remarkable scholar responsible for such heretical hermeneutics?

Morbidly Miriam: The Mephitic Memoirs of Miriam B. Stimbers is Miriam’s own attempt to answer that question, containing what she describes as “an uncompromising chronicle of my first fifty years on Earth.” The opening fifteen of those years were difficult ones, to put it mildly. Miriam was born in the notoriously rough-hewn Scottish city of Glasgow and had authentically atrocious “Parents from Hell.” Both were alcoholics, both were addicted to violence, both seemed to thrive on chaos and conflict. Miriam admits that she may well have inherited her own “committed contrarianism” from her “tram-conductress” mother, but she says that memories like the following still have the power to chill her blood at several decades’ distance:

Ma stood swaying in the door of the living-room, flushed with a mixture of cheap whiskey and vindictive triumph.

“Weel, Ah’ve done it!” she announced.

“Done whit, ye auld bitch?” responded Pa with a belch, scarcely troubling to look up from where he sat slumped in his armchair, listening to the racing results on our battered 1950s radio.

“Ah’ve joint the fuckin’ Tories!”

That attracted Pa’s attention.

“The fuck ye have!”

“Aye, an’ Ah have at that.”

“Ah’ll no have nae fuckin’ Tory under this roof!”

“An’ there ye’re wrang, ye auld cunt. ’Cos Ah’m a fuckin’ Tory an’ Ah’m under this roof right noo, see?”

“Weel, then, ye can clear yer fuckin’ airse off oot of it!”

“The fuck Ah will!”

“Ye will an’ all, woman, or Ah’ll boot ye oot!”

Most days, Pa would have thrown something hard and heavy by now, but I could see him squinting and blinking first at Ma in the doorway, then at the bottles sitting on the floor by his chair. He was seeing double again. (ch. 2, “Ye Can Take the Girrul Oot-a Glasgae…”, pp. 23-4)

That episode from Miriam’s home-life is horrifying on many levels, no? But it was not so bad as it might seem. Despite her shocking avowal, Miriam’s mother was being deceitful: she had not in fact joined “the Tories,” that is, Britain’s loathsomely racist and white-supremacist Conservative party. She was merely seeking to provoke her husband into a fight. In this, as so often before and later, she succeeded and the young Miriam was soon once again ringing for a pair of ambulances and mopping blood off the carpet. It is little wonder that Miriam sought a refuge from the violence and vindictiveness of her home-life in the calmer, kinder and caringer world of books and literature, nor that she should have set her heart on winning a scholarship and becoming the first person in her extended family of “boozers and brawlers” to attend university.

The scholarship – “my magic carpet to a better world,” as Miriam calls it – took her to Merton College, Oxford, and introduced her to some of the most exciting and up-to-date developments in literary theory. But she had already lost her heart to a certain roguish revolutionary from Vienna: Herr Sigmund Freud. Miriam has proved unflinchingly faithful to Freud and Freudianism right to the present day. Her move from Britain to the United States has merely strengthened her commitment and deepened her respect. Indeed, on the day that disaster struck her new homeland and a “bouffant buffoon” (as Miriam cuttingly puts it) was elected to the White House, she says that she found herself “literally praying to my wise old Meister.”

Despair was nevertheless an ever-present temptation in the wake of Trump’s “toxic triumph,” but Miriam says that she was determined to remain strong both for the the planet’s sake and for the sake of her life-partner Dr Nigel M. Goldbaum, who is, in her own words, “a proud member of the Black-African Diaspora (despite the racist assumptions made by sickeningly many people on first hearing his name).” Miriam has never taken the comfortable route or sought the quiet life. “It would have been very easy,” she writes of her trans-Atlantic move, “to take advantage of white privilege, to sleep with powerful white men, and to coast to superficial success in America. I could not do that. I will not do that. Hier stehe Ich – Ich kann nicht anders.”

She’s right. She won’t do that. But we can be sure that she will continue to thrust the boundaries of psychoanalysis outward, upward, and downward, just as we can be sure that she will continue to alternately intrigue her adventurous readers and traumatize her timid colleagues. Miriam Stimbers is the psychoanalyst of the century and Morbidly Miriam is a must-read autobiography for fans old and new alike.


A Seriously Stimbulating Stimbibliography

Penetrating the (Pernicious) Portal: Towards a Pre-Anthropology of the Knock-Knock Joke (Oxford University Press 1992)
Miscegenation, Misogyny, and (Mephitic) Mimesis: Towards a Post-Anthropology of the Lightbulb Joke (O.U.P. 1995)
Can the Cannibal? Aspects of Angst, Abjection and Anthropophagy in the Music of Suzi Quatro, 1974-1986 (University of Nebraska Press 2004)
Doubled Slaughter: Barbarism, Brutalism and Bestial Bloodlust in the Music of Simon and Garfunkel, 1965-2010 (Serpent’s Tail 2007)
Law of the ’Saw: Terror, Teratology, and Tmetic Tenebrosity in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre (U.N.P. 2010)
Kentucky Fried Freud: Candid Confessions of a 21st-Century Psychoanalyst… (TransVisceral Books 2012)
Re-Light My Führer: Nausea, Noxiousness and Neo-Nazism in the Music of Take That, 1988-2007 (U.N.P. 2013)
Base Citizens Raping: Revulsion, Repulsion and Rabidity in the Music of the Bay City Rollers, 1972-2002 (U.N.P. 2014)
Botty: An Unnatural History of the Backside (TransVisceral Books 2014) (reviewed here)
Jane in Blood: Castration, Clitoridolatry and Communal Cannibalism in the Novels of Jane Austen (U.N.P. 2014)
Underground, Jehovahground: Ferality, Fetidity and Fundamentalist Phantasmality in the Music of the Wombles, August 1974-January 1975 (TransVisceral Books 2015)
Komfort Korps: Cuddles, Calmatives and Cosy Cups of Cocoa in the Music of Korpse-Hump Kannibale, 2003-2010 (U.N.P. 2015)

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Titans of Transgression: Incendiary Interviews with Eleven Ultra-Icons of Über-Extremity, edited by Dr Miriam B. Stimbers and Dr Samuel P. Salatta (TransVisceral Books, forthcoming)

A further exclusive extract from this soon-to-be-published key compendium of core counter-culturalicity…

READERS’ ADVISORY: Interview extract contains strong language and explicit reference to perverted sexual practices strictly forbidden by Mother Church. Proceed at your own risk.

[…]

Miriam Stimbers: How did you meet David Slater [simul-scribe of seminal snuff-study Killing for Culture]?

David Kerekes: Well, it’s a fairly complicated story. In the Gypsy community we’ve always felt a close affinity with other oppressed minorities and we do our best to watch their backs. In 1982 or thereabouts, I was part of a Gypsy crew who lent a helping hand to a gay brothel in Stockport that was having a few problems with homophobic neighbours. My blood still boils when I think about it, to be honest. Totally out of order, the fucking neighbours were. I mean, the brothel was discreet, the clients were no bother to anyone, but these homophobes thought they had the right to stick their fucking noses in and disrupt the brothel’s business, hassle the clients, stuff like that. Fucking cunts. Anyway, to cut a long story short, me and the rest of the Gypsy crew sorted the neighbours out and then the proprietor of the brothel asked us if we’d like blow-jobs on the house, like, to thank us for our help, even though we hadn’t done it out of any thought of reward. I mean, it was just solidarity with a fellow minority, the sort of thing the Gypsy community has always been passionate about.

Miriam Stimbers: And you said yes to the blow-jobs?

David Kerekes: Well, me and a couple of my mates in the crew did. I’m always up for a new experience, as it were! And that’s how I met Dave Slater. ’Coz he was working in the brothel, as one of the rent-boys.

Miriam Stimbers: And he gave you the free blow-job?

David Kerekes: Yeah. And it was a fucking good one too. Not the best I’ve ever had, like, but in the top twenty, easily.

Miriam Stimbers: And you got chatting and discovered your shared passion for corpse-contemplation?

David Kerekes: Well, it’s natural you should think that, but no, not right then. Not on that first occasion. Dave didn’t say much, just got down to work, as it were. But as I said, it was a fucking good blow-job, so about a fortnight later, when I was in the Stockport area on business and had an hour or two to kill, I popped in at the brothel and asked for another one off him. Another blow-job, I mean, off Dave. I was ready to pay the going rate, like, but the proprietor recognized me at once and said it was on the house again.

Miriam Stimbers: And this time you got chatting with Dave Slater?

David Kerekes: Exactly. We got chatting after he’d given me the blow-job and discovered our shared passion for corpse-contemplation, as you so nicely put it. And the next time Dave was over in Liverpool, he got in touch and we had a few pints. It all sort of blossomed from there. We started meeting regularly to watch death-film and corpse-vids together. Most times, Dave would give me a blow-job at the end of the session. I mean, you build up a lot of tension watching corpse-vids, so a blow-job’s just the thing to unwind with. Very relaxing. And sometimes he’d give me a blow-job during the session too, if he noticed I was getting tense as I contemplated a particularly fine corpse or watched a particularly abhorrent death-scene, like. It was fucking funny at times, Dave trying to watch the screen at the same time as he had a nob in his gob!

They’ve contemplated more corpses’n you’ve had hot dinners...* Simul-Scribes Sam “Slayer” Slater and Dave “Doktor Nekro” Kerekes

Warming up for corpse-contemplation: Kerekes (right) and Slater (left)


Miriam Stimbers: And that’s how you came to write Killing for Culture?

David Kerekes: Yeah. Out of tiny oaks tall acorns grow! If me and my Gypsy mates hadn’t helped out that gay brothel in Stockport, I’d probably never have met Dave and probably Killing for Culture would never have been written. I’d had something in mind along those lines, but Dave’s help really was invaluable. Not just his knowledge and his contacts, but his very special relaxation techniques! I estimate that I received about two hundred blow-jobs, maybe two-fifty, off him in the course of research. When I saw that first review calling it a “seminal snuff-study”, I thought, “Little do you fucking know!” Dave was always on at me to bum him too, but I didn’t fancy that. I mean, obviously, I’m not homophobic or owt, but bumming a bloke is a big step up from getting a blow-job off him. But he still kept on at me to bum him.

Miriam Stimbers: Did you ever give in?

David Kerekes: Well, I used to say to him, “Dave, I’ll bum you after we’ve seen a snuff-movie together!”

Miriam Stimbers: So have you ever bummed Dave Slater?

David Kerekes (laughing): Well, I’ll say this, like. I’ve bummed Dave Slater as many times as I’ve seen a snuff-movie!

Miriam Stimbers: And how many times have you seen a snuff-movie?

David Kerekes (laughing again): As many times as I’ve bummed Dave Slater!

[…]

Miriam Stimbers: Who would you say has been the most important influence on your life?

David Kerekes: People often ask me this and, you know, they expect me to say that it was William Burroughs or Immanuel Kant or Sam Salatta or someone like that. And yeah, they have all been very important influences on me, but the most important influence on me was someone else. Not anyone famous, but someone very, very influential nonetheless.

Miriam Stimbers: Who was it?

David Kerekes: It was my Mom, Mirima Kerekes. People often say to me that they find me an unusually honest and ethical person, which is obviously a nice thing to hear, don’t get me wrong, but I take absolutely no fucking credit for it. It’s all down to my Mom. She brought me up to be passionate about three things. First, pride in my Gypsy heritage. Second, strict adherence to a painfully honest ethical code. Third – and I’ll put it in her own words, because I can hear her saying it to me now – “Don’t never never never act like a communist, Davy, because that would be like spitting in your poor Momma’s face.” And I’ve done my fucking best, I hope, to keep those three things at the forefront of my mind during both my working life and my private life.

Miriam Stimbers: Just to explain for people who don’t know – your mother was a refugee from communist Romania, right?

David Kerekes: Yes, absolutely right. She left Romania in the 1950s after the Russian invasion. Fled from there, rather, just ahead of the fucking tanks and the firing-squads. And she wasn’t a fan of communism, to put it mildly!

Miriam Stimbers: And what would, quote, acting like a communist, unquote, entail?

David Kerekes: Basically, she meant any kind of behaviour that violated individual autonomy, that placed the collective above the individual. The sort of fucking thing you saw all the time under communism, most obviously with the secret police. You know, the KGB in the Soviet Union, the Stasi in East Germany, the Securitate in Romania, and so on.

Miriam Stimbers: Torture, rigged trials, slave-labour camps, things like that?

David Kerekes: Yes, obviously that kind of thing, but other stuff comes under it too. I mean, if you think of the Edward Snowden revelations, the NSA over in the States and GCHQ here in the UK are behaving like communists, by my Mom’s criteria.

Miriam Stimbers: Surveillance, spying, treating the entire population as suspects?

David Kerekes: Exactly. After her experiences in Romania, my Mom hated that kind of thing, absolutely fucking hated it. And if I ever participated in anything like that, then I would be, in her words, “spitting in your poor Momma’s face.” So I don’t participate in it. Full stop.

[…]

Interview extract © David Kerekes / Dr Miriam B. Stimbers / TransVisceral Books 2017

Noxious Note: In November 2017 the Harris Central Library in Stockport, Lancashire, will be holding an exhibition engaging core issues around corpse-vids, corpse-contemplation, and the corpse-contemplation community. Sponsored by the Halifax Bank and entitled “Not Just for Necrophiles: A Toxic Tribute to Killing for Culture”, the exhibition is designed to accompany the TransVisceral Books publication of the same name. As part of the exhibition, David Kerekes will be delivering a keynote lecture entitled “Coming Out of the Cyber-Coffin: Necrophile Pride in the Internet Age”, accompanied by a keynote lecture by David Slater entitled “[the warped little fucker hasn’t even written the title of his lecture so far, so there’s fuck-all chance that he’ll get the whole thing done in time. i’ll get the title to you if a fucking miracle happens. – d.k.]”


Previously pre-posted on Papyrocentric Performativity:

Slay, Slay, Slay (Vot Yoo Vont to Slay)
Thiz Iz Siz-Biz…

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Pre-previously on Papyrocentric Performativity, I asked a single stark and simple question:

Is David Slater* a serial killer aficionado?

Today I want to ask a starker and simpler question still:

Is Mikita Brottman a serial killer?

At first glance, the question seems ludicrous, even crazy. But bear with me and I will present good evidence that it may not be so ludicrous or crazy after all. Indeed, that single stark and simple question is not enough. I want to go further and ask:

Is Mikita Brottman a serial killer with a vile white-supremacist agenda?

Now the question may seem to some even ludicrouser. How on Gaia could Mikita Brottman be a serial killer, let alone a serial killer with a vile white-supremacist agenda? This mild-mannered literary scholar and yoga-enthusiast is a passionate member of the progressive community. She has a PhD in EngLit and another PhD in psychoanalysis. She is a committed reader of the Guardian and has been for decades. She was a core contributor to Cleaner, Kinder, Caringer: Women’s Wisdom for a Wounded World (2008). She has signalled her core commitment to progressive values in a thousand ways in a thousand venues.

Indeed she has. But is “signalled” not the operative word? I would suggest that Brottman, like countless other beneficiaries of white privilege, is an expert at camouflaging herself as progressive while making no real contribution to advancing the progressive agenda. For example, although Brottman has undoubtedly enjoyed white privilege all her life, she has never acknowledged this glaring fact, let alone sought to atone for it. And when she is called out for her white privilege, she resorts to the most disingenuous and transparent tactics of evasion. She has claimed in one interview: “I do not identify as ‘white’ – I identify as Freudian.”

What nonsense! As though Sigmund Freud is not a paradigmatic example of a Dead White European Male! Furthermore, Freud taught us to probe beneath the surface. If what is in the depths were invariably the same as what is on the surface, there would be no need to probe beneath the surface. Q.E.D. We should therefore be very suspicious of Brottman’s progressive veneer and of her claim “not [to] identify as ‘white’.” And that is even before we consider another core data-quantum: her move to the Black-majority city of Baltimore. What was she up to? Indeed, what is she up to? I would suggest that this recent headline provides us with a clue:

Baltimore could surpass New York City in homicides

BALTIMORE (AP) — Baltimore could surpass New York City in homicides this year. The Baltimore Sun reports that for the first time Baltimore, with a population of less than 620,000, could record more murders in a single year than New York, which has a population of 8.5 million. As of Sept. 3, Baltimore has recorded 238 homicides, while New York City has seen 182 murders.

How on Gaia is it possible that Baltimore, with a population of less than a million, could ever record more murders than New York, with a population of over eight million? Well, vile white racists and white supremacists have an easy answer to that core question. They claim that it is the so-called “Ferguson Effect”, in which protests by the progressive organization Black Lives Matter (BLM) cause the de-policing of vulnerable districts in various American cities. Black-on-Black homicide rates then rise sharply and shockingly – according to the vile white racists and white supremacists.

I have a different and much more plausible theory: that the so-called “Ferguson Effect” is real, but caused not by Blacks homiciding other members of their Community, rather by homicidal white racists seeking to make BLM look bad. And how, you might quite reasonably ask, are homicidal white racists able to operate in vulnerable Black districts without being detected? I will let TransVisceral Books answer that question:

Baltimore Booty: An Anglo Academic Goes Undercover in Da Ghetto

Mikita Brottman’s über-controversial memoir of how she has regularly used skin-dye, wigs and prosthetic buttocks to enter and share the life of one of America’s most vulnerable Black communities. – TransVisceral publicity for Baltimore Booty (2016)

There you have it. On her own admission, Brottman has regularly operated “undercover” in Baltimore’s Black Community whilst wearing prosthetic buttocks in which it would be very easy to conceal lethal weaponry. Perhaps she carries a powerful handgun in the right cheek of her prosthetic buttocks and additional ammunition in the left cheek. Or vice versa. It is impossible to be sure. At this moment in time, we can only speculate as to the precise details of Brottman’s blood-soaked work on behalf of the white supremacist cause.

In a Black-majority jail, a white-majority yoga club:
Mikita Brottman lurks behind a vulnerable minority

Nor am I, of course, seeking to suggest that Brottman could be solely responsible for the disturbingly anomalous increase in the Baltimore homicide rate. If my theory is correct, she would be merely one amongst a number of white racists operating in the Black Community while wearing similar disguises. Nevertheless, it is entirely possible that she is the deadliest and most dedicated member of the right-wing death-squad.

And why should she have confined her atrocious attentions to Baltimore? It could very well be the case that this so-called “Anglo Academic” has been at work in other cities subject to the so-called “Ferguson Effect”, such as Chicago, St. Louis and Milwaukee. What can we conclude? It’s simple: Racism Never Sleeps. Nor must anti-racism. And I have only one thing left to say:

Stop.

The.

Brott.


*Simul-scribe of seminal snuff-study Killing for Culture: A Dysmorphic Duo of Death’n’Decomposition-Dedicated Deviants Called Dave Sniff Out the Slimiest Secrets of Snuff’n’Stuff (Visceral Visions 2016).

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Titans of Transgression: Incendiary Interviews with Eleven Ultra-Icons of Über-Extremity, ed. Dr Miriam B. Stimbers and Dr Samuel P. Salatta (TransVisceral Books, forthcoming)

Here’s an exclusive extract from this soon-to-be-published compendium of core counter-culturalicity. We join a Titan of Transgression and his incendiary interviewer as they engage issues around the unsavoury rumours that once circulated about the aforementioned Titan of Transgression…

READERS’ ADVISORY: Interview extract contains strong language and disturbing adult themes. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.

[…]

Stefan Jaworzyn: Well, yeah, they hurt. I have to be honest. They did hurt. I tried to put a brave face on it, you know, saying that the people spreading them were a bunch of fucking losers, blah-blah. Which was true. I mean, they were fucking losers. But deep down, yeah, the rumours hurt. There was one I remember… Fuck. [stares down at table]

Norman Nekrophile: Stefan?

Stefan Jaworzyn: [buries face in hands]

Norman Nekrophile: Are you okay?

Stefan Jaworzyn:

Norman Nekrophile: Stefan? Are you okay?

Stefan Jaworzyn: [exhales loudly and looks up] Yeah. Yeah. I think so.

Norman Nekrophile: You were saying about one rumour.

Stefan Jaworzyn: Yeah. There was one that said… Jesus.

Norman Nekrophile:

Stefan Jaworzyn: [exhales loudly]

Norman Nekrophile: If you don’t want to go there, buddy, we’ll leave it.

Stefan Jaworzyn: No, it’s fine. I’ll go there. There was one rumour that said I was… that I was… Jesus.

Norman Nekrophile: Yes? That you were?

Stefan Jaworzyn: [whispering] A Cockney Red.

Norman Nekrophile:

Stefan Jaworzyn:

Norman Nekrophile: Jesus.

Stefan Jaworzyn: Yeah.

Norman Nekrophile: I’m lost for words.

Stefan Jaworzyn: Yeah.

Norman Nekrophile: I mean, I’d heard myself that you were supposed to run, well, forgive me, with the Yids.

Stefan Jaworzyn: And with the Gooners.

Norman Nekrophile: Yeah, that too. With the Gooners and the Yids. Which is bad enough, don’t get me wrong. But you being a… Fuck. I can’t even bring myself to say it. That was low, buddy. That was low.

Stefan Jaworzyn: Yeah. Very low. But it was the mentality of the people we’re dealing with here.

Norman Nekrophile: And I assume you did deal with whoever-it-was? I mean, once you’d tracked down the source of that particular rumour?

Stefan Jaworzyn: [chuckling drily] Let’s not go there, Norm.

Norman Nekrophile: You’re pleading the Fifth?

Stefan Jaworzyn: Like a motherfucker.

[…]

Interview extract © Stefan Jaworzyn / Norman Nekrophile / TransVisceral Books 2017


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Cover of The Maximum Security Yoga Club by Mikita BrottmanThe Maximum Security Yoga Club, Mikita Brottman (TransVisceral Books 2017)

(This is a guest review by Dr Rachel Edelstein)

June 2015. Anglo-American academic Mikita Brottman sets off in her eco-friendly Honda Hopi to the Jessup Correctional Facility on the outskirts of Baltimore. It will be her first day running a yoga club for prisoners at the notorious maximum-security jail — and her hopes are high. For the next eight months those hopes seem to be fully realized. That first session goes very well and those succeeding it go even better. Dozens of new prisoners are soon clamoring to join the club.

Then Mikita introduces her by now tight-knit group of eager students to a new asana – a posture she has invented herself with just them in mind…

The following day her yoga club is abruptly canceled by the Maryland Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services (MDPSCS). Mikita reaches out in an increasingly bewildered and desperate attempt to uncover why the authorities have taken this harsh and completely unexpected step, cutting her off from all contact with prisoners with whom she has bonded deeply and whose personalities and psychology she has been observing with an incisive but compassionate eye. As she writes in chapter four:

The MDPSCS at first refused to return my calls or answer any of my letters and emails, but I finally managed to get an “unofficial” response from one of the prison-guards with whom I had worked, and with whom – so I thought – I had forged a mutually respectful and considerate professional relationship. I had to read his email several times before its meaning fully sank in, so disconnected, incoherent and (frankly) illogical did it seem to my disbelieving gaze. I quote here an extract: “Your so-called club has killed two prisoners and left three others paralyzed for life. You can count yourself lucky that the Department is not suing your pasty-white posterior to Alaska and back. And you have the effrontery to ask why the club has been canceled? Please, Dr Brottman: give me a break!”

I was deeply disturbed by the tone and dismissiveness of this communication. Yes, there was a grain of truth in its assertions: the new asana had not gone as well as I might have liked. And yes, five members of the club did break their necks, of whom two died on the spot and three were, in the email’s cold and clinical phraseology, “left paralyzed for life.” But was this any reason to cancel a club that had been fatality-free on no fewer than forty-six previous occasions? To my mind, it was not. I continued to probe for the true reason behind the MDPSCS’s abrupt and shocking decision. (chapter 4, “Orwell’s Shadow”, pg. 124)

Her efforts are unavailing – but worse is to come for the mild-mannered literary scholar and yoga-enthusiast. As the US presidential campaign begins and the appalling rhetoric of Donald Trump incites the most reprehensible elements of so-called white America, Mikita finds herself adopted as an “alt-right icon” by vile racists who believe that the unfortunate events at that final session of her yoga-club were no accident. She quotes a typical email: “Way to go, girl! You should get a Congressional Medal for smuggling yourself into the jail and tricking all them dumb n*****s into trusting you like that! 88!”

Needless to say, these unjust, unfair and totally unfounded insinuations are an additional and almost unbearable burden for Mikita to carry. And be in no doubt: The Maximum Security Yoga Club is certainly a tale of trauma and tragedy. But it is ultimately one also of hope, as Mikita finds a chink of light amid the darkness by adopting a false name and starting a Tantric aromatherapy-and-origami club at a maximum-security psychiatric facility (which she leaves unnamed for obvious reasons).

Combining cutting-edge psychoanalysis with deeply personal memoir, The Maximum Security Yoga Club will take you on a roller-coaster ride of extreme emotion and edgy insight as it interrogates a seething underbelly of obstreperous obstructionism right at the heart of Maryland officialdom.

 


STOP-PRESS A TransVisceral Books press-release brings the unhappy news that the Maryland Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services has followed tiny clues in The Maximum Security Yoga Club and unmasked the false identity Mikita used to gain access to the Hyman T. Rubinstein Ultra-Max Mental Hospital. Her Tantric aromatherapy-and-origami club there has been canceled and she is now threatened with prosecution for impersonation, fraud and misuse of federal facilities. Please see the TransVisceral website for further details of this devastating new development.

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Pisces, Peter Sotos, with an introduction by Dr Miriam B. Stimbers (TransVisceral Books 2017)

March 2016. Anglo-American academic Miriam Stimbers leaves her apartment in St Louis to attend an ’80s nostalgia concert at a local rock-arena. Behind her, she leaves transgressive author Peter Sotos to fish-sit her prized tank of tropical fish. Four hours later, Stimbers returns to her apartment to discover the tank empty and Sotos lying unconscious on the floor.

When he revives, Sotos describes how, minutes after Stimbers’ departure, the apartment was invaded by a masked gang.

He remembers trying to fight them off.

Then it all went black…

Pisces is a detailed examination of that fateful March day and its continuing repercussions. It is a true-crime book like no other, written from the inside by a no-holds-barred author who has been at the heart of events right from the beginning. As Dr Stimbers writes in her introduction:

Peter was a rock throughout the preliminary bewilderment-and-grieving process. It was truly a great comfort when he told me that, despite the brief time he knew my fish, he felt that he and the eighty-six of them had forged a genuine and permanent bond. Furthermore, despite the brutal assault to which he was subjected and the stress-induced hiccups he suffered for two days after the fish-napping, Peter barely left my side for the rest of the month, helping me to process my initial shock and horror and trying to assist the police investigation in any way he could. He also came up with the most plausible theory as to the gang’s identity. No trace of any break-in could be discovered, nor, despite detailed examination of multiple CCTV-feeds, was it possible to identify any strangers entering or leaving the apartment-block during the relevant time-period. But, while the gang was in the apartment, they re-arranged my bookshelves and anonymously purchased me a gift-subscription to the Journal of Forensic Entomology.

Peter’s suggestion?

“They must have been ninja librarians, Miri,” he said.

I concur. It’s the only explanation that fits all the facts. (Introduction, pg. ix)

But why would ninja librarians fish-nap a set of tropical fish? Where have they taken their piscine prizes? When will they issue a ransom demand? These questions continue to haunt all those involved in this unique tragedy. Pisces examines each aspect of the case from every conceivable angle and will only serve to trans-toxify Sotos’s rebarbative renown as an edgily incendiary archaeologist of the most photophobic furlongs of the counter-cultural complexus.


Previously pre-posted on Papyrocentric Performativity:

K-9 Konundrum — review of Dog by Peter Sotos
Toxic Twosome — review of Doll by Peter Sotos and James Havoc


Forthcoming Fetidity from TransVisceral Books…

Stiff for Stiffs: Kandid Konfessions of a Korpse-Kopulator, דוד קרקשׁ
Slime-Sniffer: The Norman Nekrophile Story, Nicolae Feralescu
Pay to Slay: The Toxic True Tale of the Mersey Murder-Machine, Dr Samuel P. Salatta

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Maverick Munch: Selecting a Sinisterly Savory Snack to Reinforce Your Rhizomatically Radical Reading, Will Self (TransVisceral Books 2016)

What is it with savory snacks and the Counter-Cultural Community? Well, if you don’t know, no-one’s going to tell you. In fact, no-one could tell you. As George Orwell put it in another context:

Consider, for example, such a typical sentence from a Times leading article as Oldthinkers unbellyfeel Ingsoc. The shortest rendering that one could make of this in Oldspeak would be: “Those whose ideas were formed before the Revolution cannot have a full emotional understanding of the principles of English Socialism.” But this is not an adequate translation. To begin with, in order to grasp the full meaning of the Newspeak sentence quoted above, one would have to have a clear idea of what is meant by Ingsoc. And in addition, only a person thoroughly grounded in Ingsoc could appreciate the full force of the word bellyfeel, which implied a blind, enthusiastic acceptance difficult to imagine today; or of the word oldthink, which was inextricably mixed up with the idea of wickedness and decadence. (Nineteen Eighty-Four, Appendix)

As Will Self might have put it: Normthinkers unbellyfeel crispcrunch. But “wickedness and decadence” are (of course) precisely what he wants to promote in this ferally phantasmagoric book. If you think that a glass of wine and some cranked-up Throbbing Gristle or Sunn O))) are a suitable accompaniment to your transgressive textualizing, I’m afraid you’re sadly out of touch. Mavericks munch, mate.

Which means you don’t want music getting in the way of your commitment to crunch. But flavour matters passionately too, of course. There are no hard-and-fast rules – this is the Counter Culture – but no-one with a culturally sensitive palate would think of combining Soft Machine with salt’n’vinegar crisps or Last Exit to Brooklyn with cheesy wotsits.

So what should you combine them with? That’s up to you and your counter-cultural conscience, but Self closes the book with his own suggestions for a full year’s worth of “Sinisterly Savory Snacks” to “Reinforce Your Rhizomatically Radical Reading”. His hierarchy of hot’n’spicy heresy includes Les Chants de Maldoror (Chilli Heatwave Doritos), Cities of the Red Night (Pickled Onion Discos), The Ticket That Exploded (Beef Hula Hoops), American Psycho (Barbecue Pringles), Junkie (Morrison’s Salt-and-Vingear Twists), 120 Days of Sodom (Scampi-and-Lemon Nik Naks) and The Satanic Verses (Paprika Walker’s Max).

I feel like releasing a satisfied (and strongly flavoured) belch just reading that list. But there’s one ringer amid the relentlessly radical recommendations – if you can spot it, you should definitely read this book. If you can’t, you should even-more-definitely read this book. Munch matters. As Self says in his incendiary introduction: “Commit to Counter Culture – Commit to Crunch.”

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Forthcoming Fetidity / Future Ferality from TransVisceral Books…

Slo-Mo Psy-Ko: The Sinister Story of the Stockport Slayer…, Zac Zialli — fetid-but-fascinating investigation of a serial slayer who has flown under the police radar for decades…
Not Just for Necrophiles: A Toxic Tribute to Killing for Culture…, ed. Dr Miriam B. Stimbers and Dr Joshua N. Schlachter — 23 Titans of Trangression come together to pay tribute to the seminal snuff-study Killing for Culture
Opium of the Peephole: Spying, Slime-Sniffing and the Snowdenian Surveillance State, Norman Foreman (B.A.) — edgy interrogation of the unsettling parallels between state-sponsored surveillance and the Daily Meal


TransVisceral Books — for Readers who Relish the Rabid, Rancid and Reprehensibly Repulsive
TransVisceral BooksCore Counter-Culture… for Incendiary Individualists
TransVisceral BooksTotal Toxicity… (since 2005)…

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