Tag Archives: Jon Konrath

Available Now: He by Jon Konrath

We’re proud to announce Jon Konrath’s latest book, He. 6x9-frontcover-he-180-20150804

According to Konrath:

It consists of a hundred short microfiction pieces. Each piece begins with the word “He.” Like my book Atmospheres, the pieces are related, but if you flipped the book open to any random piece, you could read just that and read it and then LOL and put the book back next to the toilet and finish your business.

The links:

The book is on Kindle Unlimited, so if you have that, you can read it for free and appease Jeff Bezos’s race to the bottom of authors being a worthless resource lining his coffers. It is also on Kindle Match, so if you buy the paperback from Amazon, you can download the book on Kindle for free.

How far are Furries from Zooeys? by Joseph Hirsch

Joseph Hirsch is the author of The Dove and the Crow, now available from Paragraph Line Books. 

Sex is strange, and, while it’s not my place to judge, “furries” strike me as rather odd fetishists. A furry, according to Wikipedia, the only source that can be quoted according to the latest MLA regulations, states that “…furry fandom is a subculture interested in fictional anthropomorphic animal characters with human personalities and characteristics. Examples of anthropomorphic attributes include exhibiting human intelligence and facial expressions, the ability to speak, walk on two legs, and wear clothes. Furry fandom is also used to refer to the community of people who gather on the Internet and at furry conventions.”

Furries needn’t extend their interest to the bedroom, but I’m a pervert, so I’m only interested in the salacious aspects of their lifestyle.

An even more bizarre (and, as of now, entirely fictional) subculture, is that of the “Zooeys.” Zooeys are the creation of  Jon Konrath, and they inhabit the dystopian alternative present day presented in his cyberpunk opus, The Memory Hunter. Zooeys, to put it bluntly, are humans who take advantage of surgical enhancements, implants, and alterations, in order to turn themselves into “transhuman” creatures, if you will, half-human and half bull hybrids, for instance, resembling Minotaurs of mythology. These are men and women who pay beacoup bucks to acquire tails, snouts, fur, etcetera.

My question is how far are we from this fictional creation of Konrath’s becoming a reality?

I read quite a few blogs, from the far right View from the Right (hosted by the now-deceased culture warrior Lawrence Auster), to the far left-leaning Beyond High Brow, run by Robert Lindsay, a linguist and diehard communist. Both Lindsay and Auster were adherents of what Margaret Thatcher (channeling Austrian school economist Robert Higgs, I believe) once called the “ratchet effect,” the idea that when the Left has cultural (or economic, or political) power, they can continue to turn the wheel to their advantage, but all conservatives can hope to do is not to turn back the wheel, but rather just to hold it in place and stave off further leftist gains.

So, how many more turns of the wheel must we wait before these man-beast hybrids who give reactionaries nightmares are copulating in our streets? I give it six months. Oh, and check out The Memory Hunter, if you haven’t read it yet.

Dredging the Holiday Nostalgia by Jon Konrath

Every winter, I have fond memories of the holidays when I was a child. I went to this charter school for the gifted and talented, pyromaniacs, and kids with a bad glue-huffing habit. (It was an “or” thing; you didn’t have to test well, sniff Testor’s, AND get caught spraying a hobo with gasoline; any one of those three was fine.) Most of my teachers were 60s hippie types that made us sing songs about hemp farming and replace pronouns to honor all genders, so we didn’t spend a lot of time decorating Christmas trees or writing lists to Santa. Most years, we spent a lot of time reading about Druids and potato famines, although my second grade teacher, Mrs. Finkelstein, introduced me to Laveyan Satanism and had all of us puke in a ceremonial chalice for the Firestorm. (She later got busted for securities fraud, and when I was in high school, I used to mail care packages of King Diamond bootlegs and pruno ingredients to her in prison.)

I had a neighbor, Mr. Iommi, who used to invite over kids to snort lines of egg nog during the Christmas. He had a son, Bologna, born without any internal organs, kept alive with an experimental NASA exoskeleton and a Honda ATV with a special cart that hauled around a primitive heart-lung and dialysis machine. (A made-for-TV movie was made about his life, starring John Travolta, but it was badly done and glossed over details like how Bologna Iommi spent his days playing Atari 5200, and compulsively masturbating to snuff films, while eating Jello, sometimes using the Jello as lube. He’d later work as a key grip on a couple of David Cronenberg movies, but lose all of his money on the bootleg teeth whitener fiasco of 1998.)

I never liked snorting egg nog, especially the high-test stuff Mr. Iommi would concoct in his kitchen, using soy milk and Kingsford charcoal lighter. “Don’t drink it, you fairies, SNORT IT!” he would yell, holding a loaded snub-nose .44 bulldog to our heads, spinning the chamber, pulling back the hammer. He hobbled around on a cane, and looked a lot like Charles Manson, if Charlie poorly cross-dressed in get-ups bought at a Fashion Bug. “SNORT THE NOG! HAIL SATAN!” he would scream. Then, with the taste of eggs and butane in my throat, I’d go kick Bologna’s ass at Q*Bert.

I lived in one of those annoying subdivisions where everyone judged your place in life by how many toxic chemicals you paid one of those Chemlawn places to spray down on your yard. There was a homeowner’s association that mostly did a lot of racial profiling, but had an annual Christmas decoration contest. To most of these Izod-wearing motherfucker, this meant wrapping every single surface with K-Mart lights, throwing a plastic Santa on the roof, and blasting some new-age fake-ass solstice crap through three thousand watts of distorted all-weather speakers. Even though our subdivision was adjacent to a nuclear reactor plant, we’d have frequent brown-outs in December when these fuckers would start installing klieg lights and commercial ski resort-quality snow machines, jockeying for the grand prize, a $50 gift certificate to a local Ponderosa steakhouse.

My parents worked four or five different jobs and didn’t have time for this shit, so they usually left me free reign on a MasterCharge account and let me decorate the front yard. “I don’t care what you spend, but no more John Wayne Gacy-themed dioramas. I don’t want the FBI digging through our basement again,” my dad told me. Fair enough, but I wasn’t going to show up at the Farm and Fleet with unlimited credit and erect yet another tribute to a two-thousand year old religious prophet by hoarding a bunch of crap invented by Coca-Cola and Montgomery Ward in the last 50 years. I wanted to go historical on everyone’s ass. For example, when I was nine, I did a historically-accurate Rape of Nanking Christmas display, depicting the 1937 battle for the capitol of the Republic of China by the Japanese Imperial Army, and the ensuing atrocities. I did not win the contest, and our house got firebombed by some radical Japanese gang, but I did get free Chinese food for a year.

After our school let us out for the two-week Celebration of the Solstice and Mandatory Recognition of the So-Called Messiah Cock-Oppressor Jesus As Required by State Law, we’d binge on junk food and prescription cold medication, then visit my grandparents, who operated an illicit dog track and unlicensed plastic surgery clinic just outside of Muncie, Indiana. There was all of the usual Christmas stuff: games of Russian roulette, fried goat anus treats dusted with a thin layer of cocaine, the annual showing of the classic Christmas movie, Surf Nazis Must Die. But I don’t remember these rituals as much as how me and all of my cousins would go to this tattoo parlor in downtown Muncie and pool together all of our Christmas money and buy a bootleg Stinger missile from a former Nicaraguan freedom fighter that did wicked tats of characters from Roseanne Barr sitcoms. (He was really good too: did all of the shading and everything.) Then we’d get fucked up on some kind of fortified wine, and take the missile to the Delaware County regional airport in hopes of shooting down a multi-engine prop plane before we lost our buzz. It wasn’t even about the actual joy of watching a Cessna 421 fireball and kill everyone onboard; it was more about the sense of family and togetherness involved in illegally purchasing an antiaircraft weapon and dragging it to a small airport via BMX bike after consuming a large amount of malt liquor on a cold winter day.

And that’s what Christmas is really about, isn’t it? So whether you’re attempting to kill two of every animal you can find as a sacrifice to Lucifer, our master, for the Firestorm, or you’re just watching some football with your family, and hoping you black out before the voices in your head tell you to watch A Christmas Story again, I hope you have a happy holiday.

The Love for Analog

Scan 10When Konrath is not rambling on about UFOs, he sometimes has a good point.  Check out this entry on The Wrath of Kon, which starts talking about how he’s idiotically decided to start dumping all of his money into film cameras, but then has some good points on our relationship to digital versus analog works.

http://rumored.com/2014/07/19/why-i-love-analog/

Read an excerpt of Jon Konrath’s Atmospheres at Bizarro Central

Atmospheres_Cover_for_KindleBizarro Central, the cult publisher of the strange and, well, bizarre, runs a flash fiction Friday that’s always got some choice stuff. This week, they’re running an excerpt from Jon Konrath’s recent book Atmospheres.

Check it out here. And it’s worth it to go back through the rest of their Friday posts.

And if you haven’t checked this book out yet, you really should. Grab it in print or on the kindle. Drink some NyQuil and flip it open to any random page. Fun stuff.

 

Read an excerpt of Atmospheres by Jon Konrath

Ben John Smith runs a hell of a site out of Australia called Horror Sleaze Trash. He recently published an excerpt of PL editor Jon Konrath’s latest book, Atmospheres. It’s a dark and twisted book that’s hard to explain, but an incredible read.

Check it out here, and while you’re there, read some of the other great stuff there. He’s really into gritty Bukowskian poetry and half-naked hot chicks, and there’s a lot of both on the site.

Also, you should probably head over to Amazon and pick up a copy of Konrath’s book here.

The January 20th Secret Society

Our esteemed idiot editor-in-chief Jon Konrath has a birthday today.  He has a college buddy (Bill Perry) with the same birthday, and they used to go to Las Vegas every year and celebrate by vomiting in expensive steakhouses and hitting on a hard 20.  (Well, Konrath did, anyway.)

A strange and impressive list of individuals were also born on the 20th day of the Gregorian calendar, which Konrath claims is his secret society.  It’s not clear if they have a special handshake or meet at the Bohemian Grove, but it’s possible.

Other January 20th birthdays:

  • Richard Henry Lee – politician, called for the US to secede from Great Britain.
  • Andre Ampere – physicist, father of electrodynamics; the Amp is named after him.
  • Harold Gray – creator of Little Orphan Annie.
  • George Burns – actor
  • Aristotle Onassis – had JFK assassinated to get with his wife.
  • Federico Fellini – director
  • DeForest Kelley – Bones on Star Trek.
  • Slim Whitman – musician, yodeler
  • Patricia Neal – actress
  • Rudy Boesch – asshole Marine from Survivor
  • Buzz Aldrin – second man on the moon
  • David Lynch – director, pie enthusiast
  • Ian Hill – bassist for Judas Priest
  • Paul Stanley – Kiss guitarist
  • Bill Maher – comedian and antagonist
  • Lorenzo Lamas – actor
  • Scott Thunes – bassist for Fear
  • Will Wright – computer game designer, inventor of Sim City
  • Ozzie Guillen – baseball player/manager
  • Tracii Guns – glam metal guitarist
  • Rainn Wilson – actor
  • Melissa Rivers – actor, sort of
  • Kerri Kenney-Silver – actress, comedian
  • Skeet Ulrich – actor
  • Questlove – DJ, drummer
  • Brian Giles – baseball player
  • David Eckstein – baseball player
  • Joy Giovanni – pro wrestling valet
  • Geovany Soto – baseball player

Anyway, go wish Konrath a happy birthday and buy some of his books.

New flash from Gager and Konrath at In Between Altered States

In Between Altered States is a zine of mind-bending flash fiction, edited by Aleathia Drehmer. Its 23rd monthly issue just came out, with the theme of “torture”. It includes flash from long-time AITPL contributor Timothy Gager and editor Jon Konrath.

Head on over and check out Gager’s “Chiller” and Konrath’s “The Locality Principle”, plus six more awesome pieces of flash.