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Soul Collector | Chap Review

1I “bumped into” Duvay Knox on Twitter one night as he was joking back and forth with Stephen J. Gold about buying panties on the internet — of course I had to crack a joke, cuz… it’s me. I got to reading his tweets and fell in love with his humor and his style (have you seen his Twitter icon? It oozes sex and a “I don’t give  FUCK” kinda style). When I saw that he had a book coming out, I snapped that little shit up ASAP.

I want to start by saying that I’ve never read a pulp / pulp-noir book in my life. This one is my first; I bought it because Duvay is dope as hell and because the premise of the book tickled my pussy in the right way. I’m not familiar with the genre, so I don’t know how they’re supposed to be written –so,  cut me a little slack if I don’t catch all the fine details.

Book Description

I recognize these can be a little long/tedious for some folks, so I’m going to start bulleting this section for ease of reading (if you’re interested in that kind of thing).

  • 4.25 x 7 inches in dimension
  • Approximately 156 pages
  • Cream colored, (appx.) 20lb weight paper
  • 12pt Times New Roman font (estimation)
  • Matte covers printed on cardstock
  • Glue binding which didn’t crack under my fuckery — no pages lost.

I was surprised by the dimensions of the book – I was expecting a standard 5 x 8 – but, in all honesty, I’m really charmed by it. It feels so nice in my hands, and was easy to shove into my purse and take it with me wherever the hell I was going.

Contents/Summary

Soul Collector tells the goings-on of Sippian, a young man who died by violence, and assumes the role of Death when he descends to hell. The story follows Sippian through all the fun and fuckery of his rise to the top and the challenges he faces.

Review

I want to begin by addressing the obvious; the formatting errors.

Right around Chapter 9, something happened and the Chapter titles got all fucked up – some of them ending up at the bottom of the previous page, which jacks up the formatting of the rest of the book. Duvay has addressed this, and it’s been fixed — and is sending out free copies of the corrected version to all who have bought the fucked copy.

What do I think about it? Well, to begin with editing and layout formatting is a BRUTAL and tedious job. We’re human, we all fuck up and sometimes after looking at a manuscript for 100 hours, shit just happens.  The fuckup doesn’t take away from the story in anyway — it just one of those weird-ass things that happens. Final thoughts on it:  Seems to me I got a first edition copy of Soul Collector that’s gonna be worth some coin in the future!

Second: The book is dialogue driven. There’s very little, to no, description of people, surroundings, places, things, moods, etc. I’m not sure if that’s a hallmark of pulp / pulp noir or not, to be fair and honest. I do know that I really like descriptions, because it drives me further into the story.

THAT BEING SAID — I didn’t even notice this until my second read through of the book! The story-telling that happens through dialogue is so rich and engaging that it doesn’t fucking matter if there’s descriptions.

Soul Collector is a fast-paced, funny as fuck, SUPER engaging, well written story with twists that will make your head snap sideways.  I loved this so much, and my ONLY complaint is that there wasn’t more to read… that cliff-hanger… THAT CLIFF-HANGER, THO!!!!! I need more. Like… NOW.

I cannot WAIT until Pussy Detective comes out with Clash Books in December, I’m gonna snap that fucker RIGHT up.

If this is your bag — and it should be your bag — make sure to support the author and BUY THE SHIT

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Birthday Blues | Musings that Suck

So…

I turned 38 last Thursday…. and it hit pretty hard.

I’ve been questioning doing my PhD – something that I’ve been adamant about doing since I began going back to school 10 years ago – but in the last year I’ve begun to question it…. and, for me, that indicates something’s “wrong.”

I haven’t thought much about it, not until the night of my birthday when I realized that I’m questioning it because I’ve hit mid life (let’s be real, few people live to 100 so 38 and 40 is about middle aged).

I knew this because of the questions I was asking myself; not whether I am capable of the coursework and research (I very much am) but whether I want to spend another five years of my life in school and whether it will give me any further edge in my field.

I can feel it.. ya know? Feel that I’m in some liminal space. That some huge change is coming because my thoughts are changing …. which indicate that what I want from my life is changing. The thing is… I don’t know what I want, at least not right now.

I’m still applying to the PhD (because I love school, and I love the environment of learning), but I just don’t know what I want anymore. Which means that I have to think about what I want… how do I want to spend the next 40 years of my life?

It’s just a weird and uncomfortable feeling… I don’t love uncertainty.

But… I did hear that women’s sex drives take a moon shot in their 40’s… so that’s a bonus, right?

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I Wanna Fee that Free Fall | Poems that Suck

I don't know where I'm at
or where I'm going - 
only that I am standing
at a precipice and the
only way forward is 
                   d
                   o
                   w
                   n
                   .

Instead of feeling anxious
or fearful, I'm fantasizing
about what it will feel like
to finally tip over, head first.

I imagine it will be a relief;
the dropping sensation in my 
stomach - like that second you
crest over the first coaster hill -

and the wind in my hair, 
tangling it all to hell,
as I plummet toward the ground.

What a comfort it'll be to
leave the dust of the old
behind; what a delight to
be carried on the thermal
of a new life.
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Site Updates !

Hey ya’ll,

I wanted to reach out and let ya’ll know that I’m taking a step back from PTS.

I know I’ve been a daily poster for a long time – pausing only for a few months when I was writing FUCK IT – but, I’m feeling super burned-the-fuck out right now and the pressure of daily posting is a bit overwhelming for me… plus the new semester looms large on the horizon.

So, I’m down shifting into only posting 3x / week – with “themed” posts.

Mondays: (My) Poems / Prose that Sucks

Wednesdays: Musings that Suck (just basically a catch all for me to keep you update on life, books, rants and raves.

Fridays: Reviews that Suck.

With regards to reviews:

  1. I have reviews booked (no pun intended) until 11/12 – which means there are only SEVEN slots left for the rest of the year. If you’re interested in getting your book reviewed by me (it MUST be either self or indie published! I absolutely WILL NOT read anything published by the big pubs), post your links below.
  2. Come January 1st, 2022 (jesus fucking christ, where did time go???) I will be taking an actual break. About 1 month from posting ANYTHING. That will be when this next semester ends, and I already know my brain will feel like scrambled eggs.

That’s about it… Poem post to come here shortly!

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Cover Reveal! | Book Announcement

Hey ya’ll,

We’re getting closer to press – still looking like end of July/early August – and I’ve gotten the cover from Newington Blue Press…..

BEHOLD!!!

Image

This is pretty fuckin’ exciting for me – some no name writer getting a chap – so I’m hyped to hell about it.

If you’re interested in buying a copy you can find it here : https://t.co/8RRKsWbqBc?amp=1

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Bloodwarm | Reviews that Suck

1I found Taylor on Twitter by chance; a mutual friend re-tweeted one of her pieces, and I fell in love with her style. I followed her and saw that she was hyping her upcoming chap with Variant Lit, Bloodwarm, and knew that I had to get it.

Book Details

Bloodwarm is 23 pages in length and approximately 5×8 in size. The binding is the standard glue and DID crack under my bending. That being said, the pages all remained in their place so it’s not that big of a deal.

The cover is matte with gold foil accents, and is made out of a good cardstock. The feel and look is high quality and professional.  My only “complaint” – if it could be called that – is the red text on the front and back covers. It’s of a hue that makes it difficult to read.

The paper looks like a 30lb cream, and stands up under both fountain pens and highlighters with zero bleed and no show through. The font appears to be 10pt Garamond, so you may need some readers for this.

Content

This is a collection of poems which details the embodied experience of a Black woman in the United States – particularly the South.  Taylor’s work isn’t technically dirty realism – but it’s certainly realism.

Review

They say dynamite comes in small packages and that certainly holds true for Bloodwarm. It’s 23 pages of pure fire. Napalm. White Phosphorus.

This is not a collection for the White Liberal, the Devil’s Advocate or those who claim they can’t be racist because they got a Black ___insert relationship here___. This is a collection for those who have the desire enter into a Black woman’s embodied experience and have the spine to believe what she’s telling you.

This collection is immaculate; incredibly beautiful in its vulnerability and its trust as Taylor allows you into her heart and mind. It’s not something you read quickly – each piece needs to be sat with to mull over the deep symbolism.

The show stopper for me is “How I Take My Morning Tea.” It wasn’t until my third read through that I caught it – the almost invisible text between the stanzas. At first I thought it was a printing error, and rubbed my thumb along the text to see if it’d disappear. When it didn’t I brought the book right up to my nose to look at what was going on there.

There’s a hidden poem here!

To say I was thunderstruck is not an exaggeration.  I immediately recognized that I was reading a hidden transcript (ala Scott’s Domination and the Arts of Resistance), a real-time Code Switch. The brilliant marriage between poetic realism and the Acadamy had me over the moon! This is the kind of shit that I really, really live for in my Academic life.

This whole collection is brilliant, and I’m thrilled to hear that Variant is doing another run! Congratulations Taylor!!!

Now don’t be a fuck face, and go buy it!

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Why He Won’t Let You Fuck His Ass | Poems that Suck

If you want to know
the REAL reason why
your boyfriend won't
let you fuck him

up his ass you have
to ask questions - 
deductive questions -

the kind of questions
that eliminates all the
superficial reasons. 

"Do you think it's gay?"

No.

"Are you afraid you'll like it?"

No.

"Are you afraid it'll hurt?"

No.

"Are you worried poop will come out?"

<<Silence>>


There ya go, ladies. 
Your man won't let you
fuck his ass because

he's afraid his own 
shit will come back
to haunt him.
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A Poem About You Doesn’t Deserve a Name | Poems that Suck

They say you can't get 
blood from a stone, but 
you tried to get milk from
my bones to nourish your 

anorexic heart that weighs
love and control in equal
measure on the rigged
scales of parenthood. 

I've grown up in the 
shadow of your buzz
words and catch phrases
for women:

Cunt.
Bitch.
Dyke.
Slut.
Cocktease.
Prude. 
Whore.

Pronouncing with a 
fascist authority what
women can and can't, 
shouldn't, be or do  

And me trying valiantly
to mould myself to the 
exact form for what you
consider the ideal man -

because women, in your
eyes, ain't shit - so 
that I could garner a
single scrap of affection

or respect from you.
But after 38 years, 
I've finally caught 
on to your game - 

better late than never! - 
and I'd rather char my
bones to cinders in the 
crematorium of my own

righteous fury and indignation
than ever let you back in
the door that I slammed in 
your face last April.
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Shooting Gallery Vultures | Reviews that Suck

image-1Scott and I encountered each other fairly early on in my Twitter adventures. We ‘met’ through a mutual friend because I was looking for someone to do some poetry collaborations with, and they directed me to Scott. The collaboration never panned out – probably because I totally forgot about it until now, but I had peeped some of Scott’s pieces on a few websites and loved the gritty style of them. 

When I sent out my request for folks to pimp their chapbooks so I had some new shit to read Scott, actually, didn’t respond. BUT I had been eyeballing Shooting Gallery Vultures (SGV) for a hot minute and knew I was gonna order it.  

I got the package early afternoon on Tuesday (July 6) and tore that envelope right open.  To my surprise not only was SGV in there, but also 2 additional chapbooks, 2 broadsides and four high quality vinyl stickers (which were immediately stuck onto my new poetry notebook!). It felt like Christmas! 

This post will be a review of SGV only – the other two poetry chaps I’ll review at a later date (spaced out between other chaps that are coming my way).

Book Details

SGV is approximately 86 pages in length, and measures roughly 7 x 10 inches. Like the other chaps I’ve reviewed it’s got a glue binding and stood up against my vigorous bending, folding and general rumble fucking; no pages were lost. 

The cover is full color with a glossy finish, which not only feels good in the hand but also looks/feels REALLY high quality. The external presentation on this chap is second to none.

The paper looks like standard 28 lb bond; it doesn’t bleed under a highlighter nor a fountain pen – though I did notice it sucks fountain pen ink up like a sponge. So if you’re planning to note anything in the margins for any reason, use a ballpoint. 

Each poem is an illustration created by Andrew Nutini, and it appears like they are thermal printed to the page – which means that there’s no bleeding of ink, but there is a slight sheen which may make it difficult to read either outside or bright white over head lighting. The font used looks like Courier and is nice and large so there should be no problems reading this at all.  

Content

SGV is a collection of poetry which consists of memories, observations and insights of Scott’s life as a (sometimes?) homeless addict (heroin, crack, alcohol are mentioned). If this subject matter bothers you, or you can’t stomach reality – I’d invite you to find something lighter to read. 

Review

Since 2016 I’ve worked as a Catholic Worker – both in my hometown as well as New York City – whose aim is to extend radical hospitality to all that knock on our doors. Sometimes this has meant shelter, at other times it has meant food – but the great majority of the time it has meant being in community with the homeless population of these two cities.  I lived and built community with all manner of housed and unhoused – those folks which ordinary people refuse to look at or acknowledge their humanity. 

With all of that being said; the world which Scott describes feels so very familiar to me – as recognizable and as intimate as my favorite pair of boots that have molded themselves to the exact angle of toes and arch of my foot. Though many wouldn’t understand this when I say it; it’s a comfortable space for me. 

Scott doesn’t soften the blow; he speaks about his time as a homeless addict – a life which normal people refuse to see, think about or acknowledge – in language that doesn’t spare anyone’s feelings.  His work grabs you by the scruff of your neck and forces you to look, forces his humanity down your throat until you choke – “Look at me! I’m a fucking human being!” it screams. 

If you’re hoping for a bullshit redemption arc at the end, don’t hold your hand on your ass for it. You won’t get it – and you shouldn’t. Humanity isn’t – and shouldn’t –  be contingent upon conforming to the norms and expectations of society. I respect the mother-fuck out of Scott for not giving the reader that – for forcing you to either swallow this shit whole or gag and die. 

It’s difficult for me to evaluate this collection without any bias because of my own history being in community with homeless and addicted folks. I gravitate towards these stories because I feel that they are important – not only for myself who has experienced them from a position that straddles the inside and outside of this world, but also for those who have never thought to ask these people their stories. 

So, of course, I love it.  I love it for its humanity and its honesty. I love it for its heart that bleeds, and bleeds and bleeds. 

I’ll be honest: after watching The Basketball Diaries on HBO all those years ago (don’t act brand new and pretend you didn’t see the shit, too!), I expected Jim Carroll’s poetry to be much realer and grittier than it was – I was truly disappointed. SGV gave me everything that I wanted and expected from Carroll, and more. 

The one and only critique I have of the book is this; I wish that the accompanying graphics were full page bleeds and that they were in color. 

If you’re interested in buying of Scott’s work you can find his website here and if you’re interested, specifically, in Shooting Gallery Vultures you can tweet him here.