Meatheads, or How to DIY Without Getting Killed

Meatheads, or How to DIY Without Getting Killed

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Description

A surrealist, post-apocalyptic novel that is Chuck Palhaniuk intersecting with Hunter S. Thompson, Meatheads relates the bizarre, high-octane quest of mind-bent punks navigating the zombie-infested wasteland of San Angeles.
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Product details

  • Paperback | 300 pages
  • 153 x 229 x 30.48mm | 397g
  • Toronto, Canada
  • English
  • 1771483881
  • 9781771483889

Flap copy

Youth of today don't know fuckall of history. They're just swinging through the bank vaults on liana vines, setting bonfires, throwing shurikens at hogs. Born here and talking like the yuppies came to us. Like humped in overnight cross the freeway with brain sludge mustaches and the air all mergency broadcasts. Fact is yuppies built this town. Their money brought in mowers for the jungle, insta freeway mix to stop the rivers. We're the mutants here. We're the mutants here, and it's our crew's got the crazy story. . . . Punks on acid keep on yelling past the bamboo fence, yelling stupid revelations. Maybe all the corpses in Kaliforonia did wake up once, but that's history, and no one cares enough to care. You've got this sweet bedroom overlooking the radioactive swamp, it's one short suspension bridge to the spam factory, and kids are calling Meatheads the best band in the world. Still. You miss the days when nobody came to your shows, nobody was feeding you the innerest secret mysteries of Lost Angeles, and they hadn't formed a single death cult in your honor. Lately it's all last-minute brain transplants, telepathic silkscreen ink and tripping by accident into electrostatic ghost vortexes. It's like drinking palm wine solves nothing anymore, and you can barely remember when the way of the samurai just meant chopping shit up with swords. . . .
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Back cover copy

Youth of today don't know fuckall of history. They're just swinging through the bank vaults on liana vines, setting bonfires, throwing shurikens at hogs. Born here and talking like the yuppies came to us. Like humped in overnight cross the freeway with brain sludge mustaches and the air all mergency broadcasts. Fact is yuppies built this town. Their money brought in mowers for the jungle, insta freeway mix to stop the rivers. We're the mutants here. We're the mutants here, and it's our crew's got the crazy story. . . . Punks on acid keep on yelling past the bamboo fence, yelling stupid revelations. Maybe all the corpses in Kaliforonia did wake up once, but that's history, and no one cares enough to care. You've got this sweet bedroom overlooking the radioactive swamp, it's one short suspension bridge to the spam factory, and kids are calling Meatheads the best band in the world. Still. You miss the days when nobody came to your shows, nobody was feeding you the innerest secret mysteries of Lost Angeles, and they hadn't formed a single death cult in your honor. Lately it's all last-minute brain transplants, telepathic silkscreen ink and tripping by accident into electrostatic ghost vortexes. It's like drinking palm wine solves nothing anymore, and you can barely remember when the way of the samurai just meant chopping shit up with swords. . . .
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Review quote

Praise for Noah Wareness "Noah Wareness writes with a strange lyricism somewhere south of a ranting Nick Cave and north of the razor wire strung out by William S. Burroughs. And he does it with some sort of hyper stream-of-consciousness and the extracted musk glands of honey-badgers. Wareness is relentless as he dive bombs down on the assigned targets with his massive artillery."
--Michael Dennis

"[Real Is the World They Use to Contain Us] rewrites a children's classic, the lyrical paragraphs haunt the story, and the poems explore the same stylistic-tonal perspective in diverse forms and scenarios. Many of these poems work with the philosophical end of the horror genre spectrum, playing with bizarre and nightmarish scenarios to 'what if?' the world."
--Canadian Literature
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About Noah Wareness

Noah Wareness: Noah Wareness makes fiction and poetry by hand with scratchy black pens. He does a lot of live storytelling at DIY shows, but Meatheads is his first novel. It first circulated in the folk punk and speculative fiction communities as a handmade zine with wheatpasted cardboard covers and speaker wire for binding. He went to school for writing on the west coast, and now he lives in Toronto with some friends.
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Rating details

4 ratings
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2 0% (0)
1 50% (2)
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