Tag Archives: somatic book review

Online Feature-Somatic Book Review of Beast Feast

Somatic Book Review of Beast Feast by Cody-Rose Clevidence

BeastFeastImageCody-Rose Clevidence
Beast Feast
Ahsahta Press
$18


Before beginning, take a butter knife from the kitchen counter drawer and begin to saw off your breasts [or] before beginning, take a butter knife from the kitchen counter drawer and begin to saw off your penis and balls. A steak knife will not do, you really want to feel the irony here of the most delicate weapon in the vicinity causing the highest intensity of pain. DO NOT WASH THE BODY PARTS DOWN THE DISPOSAL ! I instruct you to use them as book marks. You may need time to rest your eyes in between pages, as the content is rather mindfully invigorating, and it will be appropriate while coming back unto a page to have a reminder of the parts of you that did not exists as parts, but as an extension of the whole, before you were so mercilessly dragged through the poetic forrest that is Clevidence’s mind. A book that makes you WORK. Red gatorade is not recommended for hydration, the dye stains your insides and we might need those for later. Water is best, unless you reside in a city where Whole Foods is more rampant than water supply, in which case certified organic coconut water will do (however, do not drink the milk of the actual certified organic coconut, which excessive consumption has in some cases been known to cause diarrhea, which will cause, most obviously, dehydration).
Furthermore, embarrassment is expected once the blood stains swim into abstract pool designs on your respective boob or ball areas, but this book is really not meant to be consumed in the corner crevice of a couch in your mother’s basement. It is meant, obviously, to be experienced in the presence of beasts.
Any preschool will do, really. I recommend volunteering for story-time around page 52. Scream (I do not mean this gently) SCREAM the words into their wild, absurdly bendy little human ears until they are satiated to the point of missing snack time. Before encountering the last page, run! (I do not mean this gently) RUN ! Nearing the end of the last page, you will be, physically, a deformed running beast, captured and consumed by the sticky hands of small beasts, booked marked in time of death by severed breasts and/or balls. This is, arguably so, the preferred state of being for whispering the last line, and truly offers such a visceral perspective for interpretation of the text as a whole.

REVIEW BY MARIE CONLAN

 

 

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ONLINE FEATURE-SOMATIC COMIC REVIEW OF “RAT POISON #4”

Somatic Comic Review of “Rat Poison #4” by Louis S. Whiteford

Louis S. Whiteford
"Rat Poison #4"
Self Published, 2014

For this one, find a primo back alley. The grimier the better. There should be plenty of trash on the ground, broken glass, oil-slicked puddles, abandoned needles; the whole lot. Plant yourself by a dumpster, preferably overflowing, with the most repulsive odor that you can possibly find. You should be unable to avoid deep whiffs of rotting produce, mold, decay. Take a quick look inside, there should be slime: if there’s no slime in the dumpster, move along and find an even filthier spot. This is a gross, dirty comic, and the environ should reflect that.
Light a cigarette. Even if you don’t smoke, just for the ambiance, as an incense of sorts. Light a whole pack on fire if you can, the air should be thick with gray, cancerous fumes. A 40 oz. would help too, getting a good buzz on will probably help with your enjoyment of the comic, but otherwise just sprinkle some malt liquor in a circle around your reading spot, as a sort of ritualistic sealing of the space with the scent of spilled beer, garbage, and smoke.
Now that you’ve settled into the most disgusting, gross space you can find, it’s time to crack open the comic. You’ll immediately be swept up into the wyrd tales contained within: Kelsey Grammar leading a bleak existence on a secluded vineyard; pissed off queer punks yelling at bourgeois children; fucked up scientists creating murderous, mutant animals with an insatiable thirst for beer and cocaine. Really gross, disgusting stuff; if you were able to manage to keep your dinner down over the sights and scents of the back alley haunt you’ve established for the reading, good luck making it from one cover to the other without retching at the contents within. The stories all tangled up with each other, no victories for any of the characters, misanthropy abounds, great for a wistful punk on a quiet evening who digs hanging around trash and being a trash person.

REVIEW BY ROBBY FRIEDLEN

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