The fear in your eyes when production stops and things get out of line

Am I the only person who would wear this as a T-shirt?



So now I have a new fix to wait for. If you've had any contact with Simon Logan's previous work, the short story collection I-O or satiric novella The Decadent Return of the Hi-Fi Queen and Her Embryonic Reptile Infection, I can recommend one of two things: (a) get some bloodwork done, because God knows what viruses of languge and ideology are now proliferating in your system (b) check out the new site for his recently completed n*vel, Pretty Little Things To Fill Up The Void. I've been lucky enough to read the book in manuscript form, and it's really not like anything else out there. This is a city where tag art tells you more than street signs. The smoky glow on the horizon may not be the mouth of hell, but they do burn diseased animals over in those pits. The light at the end of the tunnel is not only an oncoming train, but there are teenagers jumping off bridges to ride it. The DJ is utterly viral. And it won't hurt you to know a little something about Rodin.

Off to make charoses with the bowl and chopper that originally belonged to my great-grandmother, for whom I am named. Chag sameach, all.