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Noam Hessler loves words. This is the most generic thing one can say about a poet, even the definition of a poet, but once you get to the second poem in Officeparks, their debut book, and see/hear/read “fattoothed,” “Uppwards,” “Darkawful,” “Fatwet,” it is delightfully apparent that Noam Hessler loves words, especially aspirated consonants.
Within the foyer of the Concrete Mansion were four doors, a mezzanine, and a distant chandelier. The walls, floor, and ceiling were bare concrete. The floor was scraped and worn, the walls darkened by water stains. The mezzanine, also concrete, ran a square frame around the foyer.
The downfall of an actor playing Dogbo, an anthropomorphic dog, unfolds in a bleak, noir-tinged Hollywood thriller that disintegrates into sadistic cartoon logic.
The ritual sacrifice of three men at the hands of three inverse-graces.
An effeminate man invites a beautiful young skinhead into his home. Masculinity, the other, limit experience.
A short comic about a sensitive, vulnerable boy—diagnosed and manipulated by a mysterious psychiatric professional.
The absolute bizarre experiences of touring, noise shows, strange personalities in subculture, and being caught up in the antics of peers.
A wide range of artists from a variety of disciplines deliver sinister incantations.
The Tyrant Queen of Iron City presents us with a bouquet of petty grievances.
The freaked-out, bored, alienated observations of the Beautiful Boy looking out on his suburban purgatory.
An imminently depressing, short, contemplative piece of empty, alien-world-wandering SF.