The Imperial Youth Review 2 E-Book

• Herausgeber: Dog Horn Publishing
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 102

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

'This is why I love bizarro. Books like this, or is it a magazine? Doesn't really matter because the fact is any time you get something like this it's always a crap shoot. What makes or breaks these are the guys who put these things together and Cook and Kelso have assembled quite a collection of stories. 'That's what makes issue 2 so good. The talent assembled here is not only impressive but the issue itself is more akin to a paperback. Not a clunker in the bunch and I can't wait to see issue 3.' –Michael Allen Rose

Leseprobe

IMPERIALYOUTHREVIEW #2

EDITED BY

CHRIS KELSO &

GARRETT COOK

Contents © the Contributors, 2013.

Selection © the Editors, 2013.

Cover © Daniele Serra, 2013.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or copied, in print or in any other form, except for the purposes of review and/or criticism, without the publisher’s prior written consent.

Published by

Dog Horn Publishing

45 Monk Ings, Birstall, Batley WF17 9HU

United Kingdom

doghornpublishing.com

Edited by

Chris Kelso and Garrett Cook

ISBN 978-1-907133-81-7

Cover design by

Daniele Serra

Typesetting by

Jonathan Penton

UK Distribution: Central Books

99 Wallis Road, London, E9 5LN, United Kingdom

[email protected]

Telephone:[phone]

Fax: [phone]

Overseas Distribution: Printondemand-worldwide.com

9 Culley Court

Orton Southgate

Peterborough

PE2 6XD

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction: ‘Chris Kelso Is a Pretentious Wanker’by Chris Kelso

‘Beards’by Michael Allen Rose

Introduction: ‘Sweet Merciful Fuck, There’s an Issue Two’by Garrett Cook

‘Speak of the Devil’by Don Webb

‘Your Baragouin’by Jordan Krall

‘Half-Sick of Shadows’by Edward Morris

‘Join the Club’by Hal Duncan

‘Ladybug Day’by Cameron Pierce

Untitledby Chris Shaw

‘Good Friday’by Dave Migman

‘In the wake of your certainty’by Dave Migman

‘the hallowed dirt’by Dave Migman

‘and the bass keeps thumpin’’by Joseph S. Pulver, Sr.

‘A Visit to Dad the Comic’by Tom Bradley

‘Vodou’by Joseph Robicheaux

‘Blue Beam Conspiracy’by Douglas Lain

‘Neo-Anarchism: A New Vision of Anarchy’by Kirk Jones

‘Herschell Gordon Lewis’ The Wizard of Gore (1970)’by Nick Cato

Paperback

978-1-84694-678-3

$18.95 | £9.99

216x140 mm

264pp.

eBook

978-1-84694-526-7

$9.99 | £6.99

US Distribution:

National Book Network

UK Distribution:

Orca Marston

perfectedgebooks.com

It’s been rough lately for the Lord of Darkness, with ex-girlfriend drama rearing its head at inconvenient moments, ancient gods returning to take over the universe, and Satan’s own unstoppable laziness. But whatever. Satan is okay, and he thinks you’re okay, too. This whole eternal damnation thing is all a bit of a misunderstanding. He runs Hell as a resort, kind of. A vacation spot. The point is, he’s not a bad guy. He’s trying to save Heaven and all of creation, and he only has a dimwitted giant, a surly waitress, and a monkey to help him. So, a thank you might be nice. Maybe buy him a cup of coffee next time you see him. And you will see him. It’s the Apocalypse, and all that.

Michael Paul Gonzalezlives in Los Angelese.michaelpaulgonzalez.com

INTRODUCTION:

CHRIS KELSO IS A PRETENTIOUS WANKER

by Chris Kelso

I’m in hospital right now, but I remember…

…Walking around the corner and turning into my local pub – a run-down shite-hole called “The Wifebeater”. You get an eclectic bunch in here usually. I see Cleary, the local head banger sipping froth from his pint. He sees me and waves me over. Cleary is in an art-rock band called “Fuck Almighty”. They perform demonstrations and are fairly political – they’re also completely shite. That’s not the point though…apparently.

- Alright my old son – he says.

Cleary is a good 5 years my junior, it annoys me when he calls me “son”. He knows I’m a writer and likes to undermine me.

- Any gigs? – I ask disparagingly. His face drains of all colour.

- No. Nothing yet.

- Ach well, chin up.

Inside I’m smiling like a smug bastard. A cell phone glows through Cleary’s jeans. He excuses himself to take the call.

At that moment, Danny Mclean has arrived – a man of unwholesome proclivity – the local nutter. A pale fear overcomes me. The last time he was here he killed a man, a man called Archibald. They say Archibald’s head was so beaten up that it went completely black, septic black.

Anyway, McLean is pretty untouchable, seeing as how his wee brother is a copper. He’s a bald, squat specimen with no visibly obvious presence, but his reputation precedes him. His face is a map of scars, a series of fresh cuts overlapping on his left cheek. I turn to the counter and order a pint of Fosters, trying to ignore the mental cunt who’s just entered. That’s the thing about “The Wifebeater”, I only come here because I appear more intelligent and successful than the regular clientele, but when murderers and thugs start popping in for a swift-half it sets me on edge, makes me question my strategy. Cleary sits back down on the stool beside me, his ridiculous poodle haircut wilting at the fringe. He looks anguished.

- What’s the matter with your face? – I ask.

- That was my bloody guitarist ‘Roach’. He’s got meningitis. How typical is that?

- Bloody typical aye.

‘Roach’ is a stupid name for a guitarist.

- A week before the big gig at Spoons.

- Chin up, maybe mental Mclean will fill in for ye.

I don’t know why I said it.

I am prone to moments of reckless abandon when in the company of people I feel superior to.

- Here, I think he heard ye…

Christ, please don’t have let him hear me. I swivel on the stool and see him coming towards me.

FUCK.SAKE

- Alright big man – he says eyeing my profile up and down.

- Aye…

- You’re wee Chrissy Kelso, ain’t ye?

- Aye…

- Heard you were writing wee books n’ that…

- Aye…

- Well excuse me if ah don’t ask for yer autograph big man. Christ sake, ah could write a book if ah wanted to!

- Course you could, it’d probably be better than mine!

Self-deprecation is wasted on this head case. I adopt an apologetic tone.

- Look, Danny, I’m really…

- Yer really what? Really sorry? Ye fuckin should be wearing that scarf!

Everyone in the pub laughs on cue. Mclean grabs a fistful of my scarf and lassos me in until I’m inches from his gin soaked, scar-ridden face.

- You no from Cumnock?

- Originally from Cumnock aye.

- Well then why the fuck are you comin into this pub dressed like a fuckin poofter?

I don’t know what to say. I am from Cumnock, but I’m keen to dispel that factoid around biographers and journalists.

I’m terrified of confrontation. Mental Mclean has illuminated something I’d previously failed to resolve in myself, an intrinsic flaw of the personality.

I really am a pretentious cunt to these people.

Danny untightens his grip on my scarf and with one swift motion tears it free of my neck. He wraps it round his head like Rambo’s bandana, limping his wrist and adopting a feminine accent (which I believe was meant to be an impression of me). My humiliation made complete when Danny decides to get out his cock and balls and proceed to dip them in my pint of Fosters.

I’m overwhelmed by a need to fight back, defend myself. It’s the Imperial Youth VS the Antiquated Brutish Old BASTARD…

I have the backing of some of the greatest young minds of our generation, of any generation!

I pick up my pint glass and toss the pissy beer over Danny Mclean’s hideous mug…

IMPERIAL YOUTHS ASSEMBLE!!!!

I am now in hospital…

Chris Kelsois the editor of Imperial Youth Review, author and illustrator.

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INTRODUCTION:

SWEET MERCIFUL FUCK,THERE’S AN ISSUE TWO

by Garrett Cook

Well. Fuck. Holy shit. We made a magazine. It’s a good magazine too. There were a lot of people who said we couldn’t do it, but…

Shit. That’s a lie. Nobody said we couldn’t do it. This project has been blessed with love and support and passion from the getgo. Nobody said no. Nobody said “fuck you” or “show me the money”. By the way, we’re working on that. This mag costs an arm and a leg, but it’s still what some people pay for a takeaway burger. And unlike McEvil, we won’t feed you crap.

Every time I turn around, someone puts hand to brow and says “reporting for duty”. So, Issue 2. We got so much support and so many subs for Issue 1 that we barely had to get any new material for two.

The love is exploding. And if you, dear reader come around for Issue 3, you’ll be seeing plenty of gooey, pulsating juicy meaty bloody tasty love. But the Issue in your hands is a great one. Full of talent, full of exuberance and because I moved female contributors forward to Issue 1 from the getgo, full of testosterone.

Sweet merciful fuck, we made a magazine. We made a blog where contributors can do as they please, we made safe places to transgress and a haven for love, friendship and revolution. We’re not as big as we could be, but I’m proud and happy and shocked to bring you Issue 2.

We’re great is what we are.

Garrett Cookis the fucking editor of this fucking magazine.

SPEAK OF THE DEVIL

by Don Webb

The devil rears his head in many guises. He’s there when a teenage Satanist yells the Infernal Names from the Satanic Bible, He’s there when the pious Yezidi calls upon the Peacock Angel, he there in Scottish curses (“May the Devil walk behind ye!”), and he is there in resplendent glory in the works of George Bernard Shaw, Anatole France, Mark Twain and Robert Irwin. He shows up as a tempter, a trickster, a friend of man, a merciless accuser. He is in myriads of cultures – sometimes holistically part of the pantheon among American Indians and West Africans, sometimes a culture hero in Greece, a Patron of rulers for the Aztecs and some Egyptians. He can be a She with names like Hecate, Asarte or Kali. The devil reflects both what we fear and long for. Let’s look at his trappings and Names, and see what He mirrors for mankind, and as a bonus I will throw in a powerful Invocation that 99% of you would be scared to ever utter.