Amphetamine Sulfate Titles
Philip Best - Captagon
"Midday sun and dust and flies buzz and buzz. Little good-for-nothings dragged from the marshes. Abandon the crops and go gather them to you. Initiations in the pens and years later voiceover confessions. You don’t seem to realise, Soldier, that we’re standing side by side, watching together those creatures on the ground, the rags of meat thrown around in the stones and the dirt. You don’t seem to realise the skin I share with you. And I’m there with you to watch the story unspool and see your daughter sat atop the stool the studio portrait on the side of the bed among the lipsticks and dregs the feigned suicide attempts no one is innocent I say no one. I was with you again in the bone-cold pits and when you taunted the kids with knives and with sticks. ‘Demons,’ you said, had entered your head, but I was there all the while, and it was you on your own I say just you all alone."
Simon Morris - Creepshots
"Simon Morris's book is a nightmarish vision of bad sex and bad art in a grim UK." - Philip Best
Jason Williamson - Slabs from Paradise
"The promise he made himself of mentally fucking up any cunt who slagged him off in the past by way of achieving absolution in the field of success seemed, well, progressively more unattractive as he sat watching his own ego buy him more drinks. He liked it, don’t get me wrong, he liked it very much. This chamber and its walled ignorance with the bar positioned near the toilet. He liked it. He was fucking wankered on the booze and when his ego went for a loose shit (the type booze produces occasionally; a fishy, callously dark chemical whiff) the smell didn’t escape and linger near the fucking bar when he returned to his seat. The small conveniences matter a lot, don’t they? When all you have is the rotten old corner."
Gabi Losoncy - Second Person
"Gabi Losoncy's book, was recently described as a 'self-help book from hell.'" - Philip Best
Samantha Davis & Matthew Bower - Talisman Angelical
"And I drive you, drunk LSD teenager in the back seat, steering, we cannot crash, all your roads are in my head, drunk on delusions that rise and writhe with the nourishment of belief. My desert gods look out from their eyes. Dense fur protects. My gods snuffle through overturned piles of burning garbage in the desert market at dawn. Squared off ears flicker to danger, leaving their delicious delicate violent scent. Someone make me glitter. Thank you. Neon flags on a dinosaurs wings. Musky perfumes, helicopters. Sprawled daughters. Sulky, amused. My mother shot through and dying in the light of undifferentiated windows."