Issue 9 reading window closing soon, one more from the Archives
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\ From the Archives
“Laws Dawg”, by E. Lois Martel, from our most recent issue. We love colossal stories, and this one certainly is—not just in length (it’s one of our longest), but in rampaging, frothing style, heroics, carnage, trepidation, heart, blood, guts. You don’t, I think, see many experimental action pieces out there; in contravention to that regularity, Martel’s writing somehow manages to do it all at once: it’s surreal, immersive, apocalyptical adventuring is blasted through dense syntactic suturing without even minimal energy loss. I feel like I’ve huffed something awesome reading this. Fans of Ridley Walker, Mad Max, and massive reality distortion are warmly invited.
Puzzles The Cat laughed ugly when he slung me outta Petro Hill t’rad noon ’n’ sloburn death. Doubtfilled he figured me for new folk, ’stead took me a newcomb lately undergrinder. T’won’t be t’burn for me, but I daresay t’boiled blood may deehide rate me t’my end. T’black petrofried rock o’ t’Hills shimmers in’t radlight ’n’ reeks o’ t’smog o’ dead gods. It poisoned ’n’ rotted alla minds o’ t’maze o’ tunnels carved in’t ’nother petroblack corpse eeyons past ex-pirate shunned, bared by t’winds o’ time t’doobyus habit. T’world were scatter’d w’death. ’Cross The Seven Year Mirror’s glassdust ’panse, ev’r’one came t’mad end, wanderin’ saints sunk ’thin t’god gas whilst lizard eyes seekin’ fortunen t’mines o’ its solid iffied petro mindlost soon after. T’petro miners all crazed fast, but these were ’spec’ly deepmented on account o’ t’gasses. Here lies Chary me as Chary does, t’onen only, t’ponder ’pon t’sequens ovents as paved path t’my present condition.