Even the dog won't touch me. Tom Bradley
|
Stories that bounce back and
forth across the Pacific as
if it were a mud puddle:
A seven-foot-tall member of
the Greatest Generation gets
to stay home from World War
II and fornicate with his
friends' wives... sexually
ambiguous creatures lay a
six-figure book advance on a
harelip... an obese janitor
in a Mormon prayer hall
wedges himself behind the
organ pipes, dies, and "fills
the joint with green corpse
steam..."
Meanwhile, in China...
A Palestinian medical student
gets chained to a conveyor
belt in a Manchurian abortion
mill... a former Red Guard
returns from rustication only
to find his comrades running
a bourgeois beauty salon
called SYJVESTER
STAJJONE'S... an American
"foreign expert" hijacks a
beggar's wheelchair and
steals a baby...
Calliope's Boy features, among other
gentry, a lapsed Mormon banjoist
losing his mind in the London tube; a
Japanese language teacher being
fisted in the Utah desert by wild
Uncompahgre Indians while their
squaws gnaw on his fingers; a
compulsively masturbating former Red
Guard; a visit to the corpse-littered
bowels of Beijing's Public Security
Bureau lockup; and an acid-addled
fourteen-year-old's brain dalliance
with an old lady in a Nevada psych
ward.
Along the way we learn special
secrets, such as, for example, the
techniques which Hiroshima Yakuza use
to beat their Filipina sex slaves
without bruising the merchandise, and
also how feigned cunnilingus can keep
you from being thrown off a Chinese
train.
"Tom Bradley is one of the most
criminally underrated authors on the
planet."
--Andrew Gallix, editor and publisher
of 3:am Press

Hemorrhaging Slave of an Obese
Eunuch happens in the middle of the
Adriatic Sea during Neronic times,
in Hiroshima Cathedral's
demon-infested basement, in the
royal elephant stables of a
Hindustani town three millennia ago,
in a Tokyo AIDS hospice disguised as
a derelict kindergarten, on a yacht
anchored off a South China leper
isolation colony, and on top of a
skull-shaped and -textured
geothermal formation in the
prune-colored midnight.
"This Bradley would make Lafcadio
Hearn reel with laughter...if not
shake his head in wonder."
--Lolita Lark, editor of RALPH
Magazine
"I love the contradictions in
Bradley's work: the subtlety beneath
the rollicking humour; the
precision, in his more political
work, underlying the scathing tone;
and the clarity of his language
throughout."
--Val Stevenson, editor of
nthposition Magazine