Information on the new releases from Hekate Publishing.
Random book reviews of self-published works, and new releases from other independent publishers. Remembering old books which are still worth reading.
Tennessee Williams was born Thomas Lanier Williams III. His father, Cornelius Coffin Williams (1879-1975), was a hard-drinking travelling shoe salesman who spent much of his time away from his home and family. His mother, Edwina (Dakin) Williams (1884-1980), was an archetypal “Southern belle” with social aspirations that descended into snobbery and behavior that was neurotic and hysterical.
Read More. . . . Rudraksha wriggled his right hand inward, in the direction of the voice, needing to be certain the gun rested on the ground directly underneath Jairaj’s head. . .
Read More. . . Such large virtue lurks in these small things when extreme political superstitions invest them, that in some royal instances even to idiot imbecility they have imparted potency. . .
Read MoreAmerican author Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote a sci fi novel in 1913 called The NO. 13, later titled The Man Who Lost His Soul, finally re-titled,The Monster Men. Burroughs, who also penned Tarzan—King of The Apes, had no idea what a festering mindset wound he hatched in those Victorian days. Tarzan and King Kong, for me, are the same monster. The thinly-veiled stories of white supremacy over the savage beast. In other words any color that ain’t white.
Read MoreHe had extensively reviewed the literature of decapitation and the guillotine, and in doing so learned the brain used oxygen inside the head for a few seconds more, after supply from the heart had been severed; and in so doing, generated electrical signals.
Read MoreDo you want to make a thousand dollars a day as a writer?
Read MoreWhat happens to a man who spends too much time in Dataland. . .
Read MoreIt doesn’t matter what the hell you write, so long as it sells.
Read MoreIntersection Operator, a dystopian ghost story, by J. Jupes.
Read More“What made Eckerly and I compatible? We weren’t nice people, for one, both cowards, emotional abuser types riddled with guilt. We had lost anything meaningful by the time we reached thirty. We formed our own whiner’s club. Two members. We descended, street level. Dragged people down stairs. Dropped them out windows. All of it made me sick, paradoxically. Half the time neither of us could remember doing it. We drank. We did what was expected. At some point, we looked at each other and nodded. Then stopped.
I wore a dress, worked undercover. That gave me an edge. Years later Powski told me the edge was just in my head. In my head? Yes, he said, you have no edge. This is a delusion. Eckerly was a little raging elephant. Wasn’t brave. Stupid. He would do the opposite of what his fear told him to do and do it without consulting me. Why would you do that? Everybody is crouched down behind the banister. There are bullets. Why would you stand up? Why would you go in that room?
He’d go in. I’d go in after him. The reason I’d follow Eckerly was I knew he had bad luck in every other area of his life except when he entered a room where everybody was packing. I don’t know why that was. I knew it was safe to follow him. Powski agreed. Yes, Powski said, it’s safe, OK to follow. The first time Powski said that, I asked him just what kind of psychiatrist are you,? He said, I’m your psychiatrist. Do you want me dead, Powski? He said, Yes, I might want you dead. Powski wouldn’t joke about something like that. This is why I trust him. He doesn’t let me figure things out for myself. He tells me what to do. This saves time. That’s why Powski is my psychiatrist. You see, I’ve changed the subject. I was supposed to be talking about Eckerly.
What does Literature of the Absurd, witchcraft and constipation have in common?
Read MoreKilmanjaro, Part One of the Gastrointestinal Witch-Crime Fantasy Thriller, Kilmanjaro.
Read More". . .I set up a table and on my first day sold two small paintings. On my second day, I sold another two and thought maybe I can do this as a job. I had been a seller at a shoe store. I quit selling shoes.
Read MoreA FANTASTIC READ FROM THE AMERICAN POET D. B. TOMPSETT
Read MoreA writer and an actress describe their joys and torments of fifty years in the theater.
Read MoreMarcel Duchamp's impact in the genesis of modern conceptual art was revolutionary. For one, he produced the famous Nude Descending a Staircase:
Then he gave up painting in order to play chess full time.
The idea of Duchamp playing chess in lieu of making art was fascinating and puzzling.
Read MoreOne hundred years later, D. B. Tompsett is playing tennis with his net down on the Idaho plain; the only poet I know who can animate a desert outhouse, give her a paramour and communicate that pathos. Dan understands the temperament of a desert, for one. His job is agriculture and plant life. All the while, he moves in and out of reveries, a working man's surrealist: A cricket couple are hunted by dogs in a cornfield; the dogs grow bored of the chase; butterfly wings turned to toast; their bodies, small sausages; and he asks, already knowing the answer, which way do pumpkins really point?
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