Take a photo of a barcode or cover
losersfiction 's review for:
Goddamn Electric Nights
by William Pauley III
You see me waving an arm to get your attention. The arm I’m waving isn’t mine. I flag you down and follow you even though you don’t stop walking. I begin to talk at a manic pace, dragging the arm behind. My breath is bad and there is something in my mouth.
“Bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit. Bullshit bullshit?”
You try not to look at me. I smack you with the severed arm. It claps against your ear with a cold doughy sting. You feel something slimy wriggle into your ear, transforming my words.
“Bullshit bullsh-have you ever heard of William Pauley? Not the original or the sequel, but the third one. He’s a trilogy. I don’t know if you know this, but he’s a writer guy, you know, with words, and all of his works are in one interconnected universe, or like five, but let’s not get into that just yet, and anyway I did like a real deep dive into his stuff, and I read every single one of his books and short stories and I even read that OooOoo screenplay and the Danny Devito in hell one, and so now I feel like I just got to tell somebody, like proselytize, and and…”
You hasten your steps, I toss aside the limp arm. It makes an unpleasant sound on the sidewalk. It’s then that you notice I’m not wearing anything except for a DOOM Fiction™ shirt, but worn as pants. You try not to look, but an errant glance tells you where the neck hole sits. I hop skip alongside your wide gait, still chewing something.
“Okay, let’s take it from the top, or the bottom, it’s all connected, right? HAHA. I started at Holus Bolus, and boy was I hooked, but you can start wherever. I’m telling you, I felt weird just reading it, like the story — the Eighth Block Tower — was creeping into my brain.”
I spit out wet wads of magazine cud, scratch my tongue, then continue.
“There’s so many inexplicable things going on and the more DOOM Fiction you read, the more you get infected, you stop thinking things are weird: purple TV’s, huffing cockroach dust, killing people with Nintendo accessories — it’s just how it is in the world of Eighth Block. By the end of Holus Bolus, I was in tune with that crazy hum and I cared for these characters that seemed so insane at first. I mean, the ending is shockingly emotional. I mean I know I’m not crazy, not like the residents of Eighth Block, HAHA.”
We come to a redlight, you cannot cross. I have you trapped by traffic. I remove a glowing green syringe from somewhere inside my shirt-pants. You flinch but I inject it into my butt. You regret walking past the Eighth Block as the light turns green.
“So then I keep reading the writer guys books and I realize that things are starting to connect, you know? I jump into the Doom Magnetic Trilogy and I’m seeing familiar names. Stuff is still insane, but it’s just shy enough of nonsense that I start seeing patterns, connections! The purple TV keeps showing up, that giant green brain, people turning into freaky stuff, and the dreams, they all keep bubbling up like acid reflux. Then I notice the Tower is underwater in some kind of black sea in Twelve Residents Dreaming, or was it the First Life of Anacoy Marlin… and then I realized it was continuously raining in some of these other stories! Coincidence? NO! The grotesque and bizarre becomes comfy and normal in DOOM Fiction. Each time I get answers to questions, I’m left wanting to ask and know more. In Hearers of the Constant Hum, maybe for the first time, maybe not, you meet the Crunk brothers who are so fun to read and have such a great banter, you’re left wanting more of them, but then you find out they have their own book called The Brother’s Crunk, and then they keep showing up everywhere, and little by little you start to fit into this wacko world — you become a resident of the Eighth Block Tower. I thought White Fuzz was insane when I read it, it was only like my second bump of DOOM, and I wasn’t sure if I missed something, yet I loved it, but the more I read, the more that uneven feeling of having glimpsed something lurking in the background becomes normal. If you keep reading, digging into the drywall, you find a name keeps getting passed around. Old Joe Booth. You get a little more scared. You read Twelve Residents Dreaming, and you start to wonder about things. The stories are lingering in your mind too long, but you read more. In Astronaut Dream Book, you see connections all over the place, half-remembered moments that ring familiar. You read Automated Daydreaming and you really begin to wonder what the picture is that these pieces make up, because you want to know, you have to know. You know?”
You begin running down the street away from me and I sprint after, yelling.
“Jellyfish juice! @William Pauley III! Purple TV’s! Happiness! Jubilicide! TOWER NEON! The Dreams! It’s all connected, don’t you see!? Twelve! Five! Ashok burn right hand of men! To Neptune, rebirth in blue fire!!
You escape, barely. You lean over breathing hard and feel a horrible pain where I hit you with the wet arm. A small faucet is growing out of your ear.
https://losersfiction.substack.com/p/substack-literature-reviews?r=3517l8&utm_medium=ios
“Bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit. Bullshit bullshit?”
You try not to look at me. I smack you with the severed arm. It claps against your ear with a cold doughy sting. You feel something slimy wriggle into your ear, transforming my words.
“Bullshit bullsh-have you ever heard of William Pauley? Not the original or the sequel, but the third one. He’s a trilogy. I don’t know if you know this, but he’s a writer guy, you know, with words, and all of his works are in one interconnected universe, or like five, but let’s not get into that just yet, and anyway I did like a real deep dive into his stuff, and I read every single one of his books and short stories and I even read that OooOoo screenplay and the Danny Devito in hell one, and so now I feel like I just got to tell somebody, like proselytize, and and…”
You hasten your steps, I toss aside the limp arm. It makes an unpleasant sound on the sidewalk. It’s then that you notice I’m not wearing anything except for a DOOM Fiction™ shirt, but worn as pants. You try not to look, but an errant glance tells you where the neck hole sits. I hop skip alongside your wide gait, still chewing something.
“Okay, let’s take it from the top, or the bottom, it’s all connected, right? HAHA. I started at Holus Bolus, and boy was I hooked, but you can start wherever. I’m telling you, I felt weird just reading it, like the story — the Eighth Block Tower — was creeping into my brain.”
I spit out wet wads of magazine cud, scratch my tongue, then continue.
“There’s so many inexplicable things going on and the more DOOM Fiction you read, the more you get infected, you stop thinking things are weird: purple TV’s, huffing cockroach dust, killing people with Nintendo accessories — it’s just how it is in the world of Eighth Block. By the end of Holus Bolus, I was in tune with that crazy hum and I cared for these characters that seemed so insane at first. I mean, the ending is shockingly emotional. I mean I know I’m not crazy, not like the residents of Eighth Block, HAHA.”
We come to a redlight, you cannot cross. I have you trapped by traffic. I remove a glowing green syringe from somewhere inside my shirt-pants. You flinch but I inject it into my butt. You regret walking past the Eighth Block as the light turns green.
“So then I keep reading the writer guys books and I realize that things are starting to connect, you know? I jump into the Doom Magnetic Trilogy and I’m seeing familiar names. Stuff is still insane, but it’s just shy enough of nonsense that I start seeing patterns, connections! The purple TV keeps showing up, that giant green brain, people turning into freaky stuff, and the dreams, they all keep bubbling up like acid reflux. Then I notice the Tower is underwater in some kind of black sea in Twelve Residents Dreaming, or was it the First Life of Anacoy Marlin… and then I realized it was continuously raining in some of these other stories! Coincidence? NO! The grotesque and bizarre becomes comfy and normal in DOOM Fiction. Each time I get answers to questions, I’m left wanting to ask and know more. In Hearers of the Constant Hum, maybe for the first time, maybe not, you meet the Crunk brothers who are so fun to read and have such a great banter, you’re left wanting more of them, but then you find out they have their own book called The Brother’s Crunk, and then they keep showing up everywhere, and little by little you start to fit into this wacko world — you become a resident of the Eighth Block Tower. I thought White Fuzz was insane when I read it, it was only like my second bump of DOOM, and I wasn’t sure if I missed something, yet I loved it, but the more I read, the more that uneven feeling of having glimpsed something lurking in the background becomes normal. If you keep reading, digging into the drywall, you find a name keeps getting passed around. Old Joe Booth. You get a little more scared. You read Twelve Residents Dreaming, and you start to wonder about things. The stories are lingering in your mind too long, but you read more. In Astronaut Dream Book, you see connections all over the place, half-remembered moments that ring familiar. You read Automated Daydreaming and you really begin to wonder what the picture is that these pieces make up, because you want to know, you have to know. You know?”
You begin running down the street away from me and I sprint after, yelling.
“Jellyfish juice! @William Pauley III! Purple TV’s! Happiness! Jubilicide! TOWER NEON! The Dreams! It’s all connected, don’t you see!? Twelve! Five! Ashok burn right hand of men! To Neptune, rebirth in blue fire!!
You escape, barely. You lean over breathing hard and feel a horrible pain where I hit you with the wet arm. A small faucet is growing out of your ear.
https://losersfiction.substack.com/p/substack-literature-reviews?r=3517l8&utm_medium=ios