Versus Silver Debuse
Silver Debuse--poet, critic, apparatchik, gadfly--defends his profile against the assault of the entire world.
24 October, 2010
4 October, 2010
mailbox
(No offence to anyone in Chinatown, of course. I'm sure it's not true.)
5 September, 2010
If you don't like what I'm saying, Good!
18 August, 2010
Review: Blood on the Ground
"This is gritty and disturbing crime novel with obvious hints of Calder, a bouquet of Welsh and some Palahniuk in the swallow. The hapless protagonist, unhappy in a life of crime, flees from the clutches of the gangster cartel to which he is indentured, only to find that beneath the streets of the unnamed Canadian city is a bizarre underground world of urban fantasy monsters darker than he had imagined, and possibly more dangerous than the one he has left behind. Both the crime and the dark fantasy pats of this novel are well-written and entertaining, with faced-paced fight and chase scenes, an engaging protagonist, terrifying but believable villains, and an inevitable but thrilling dénouement in the tunnels beneath a sewage treatment works. The mechanics of the underworld perhaps stretch credibility in places, and to be honest the story is a bit too long, but there is no denying this is an excellent read.
"But.
"Billed as a début novel by 'acclaimed critic, poet and anthologist' Cayne, this work must be read within the context of the author's oeuvre. Cayne's poetry (as any web-search through the review sites will confirm) is derivative and turgid, borrowing a romantic style and Eighteenth Century diction and yet labelling itself avant garde because of the controversial and political subject matters he likes to address. With this in mind, the ostensibly readable crime novel, mixing genres and literary influences to disguise the lack of deep content, is guilty of the same sins. However entertaining this single volume might be, this is no Stieg Larsson in the making, but rather a derivative and degenerate writer with little to recommend him."
(reproduced by permission of the author)
15 February, 2010
The music of pyuuuuuke
Barschatz herself was blandly inoffensive and placid as always (the only amusing moment being her use of the expression "my editor" to describe what is in fact her husband), and unmemorably gave us a good indication of the quality of her book. The rather gushing junior DJ, however, spouted what must have been publisher's copy, and described the scribbler's latest efforts as "a bold and unconventional tour de force into the glorious heights and gut-wrenching lows of our favorite emotion", and the "startlingly original language-use" of a "darling of the poetic establishment."
Reviews of The Music of Love from more reputable sources tell a different story—this is neither a novel nor a book of poetry, but the worst of both genres: 600 pages (still only 2/3 the length of her previous outing) of turgid, ill-constructed, unattractively typeset prose that may borrow from blank-verse and stream-of-consciousness traditions but never approaches the poetic in style or quality. A protagonist as depressingly gray as the ghost girl of her début novel, a love story as convincing as a leprous horse in schoolgirl uniform, and a dénouement as staggeringly unoriginal as the title of the book itself.
The only thing bold or startling about this sordid little five minutes of fame was the audacity to claim Barschatz is a "writer".
Keep it up, Independent Radio. This is why we love you.
27 November, 2009
Emu Boy?
Skinny jeans like black tights
with skeletal hands on the hips
Anarchic Angel teeshirt, new, too clean,
Bottle-black sneakers with tongues hanging out thirstily,
and a crimped fringe down to his throat.
Who knows what was wrong with the Emo boy this morning.
Apart from the obvious, I mean.
19 September, 2009
Deciphering Reynolds
11 July, 2009
An interesting take on graffiti
As the above link to the exhibition includes the filepath "currentexhibition.htm" it probably won't remain true beyond the August end of this show, at which point you'll find it in the archive. A brief discourse on the graffiti image can be found at the King's news site (as students at the Center for Crime and Justice at that college co-organized the exhibition).
So what is the crime?
24 May, 2009
Wiscon panel titles
- "bisexuality in sci fi"
- Disability + BSG
- subversive kids' books
- "Resolving Time Travel Paradoxes"
- Warrior women
- What's In The Air
- kick-ass moms
- Verb Noir launch party
- "Gadgets: Then, Now and When"
- unspunky teen protags
- NOT ANOTHER F*CKING RACE PANEL
- portrayal of working class in SF
- Dr Horrible Party
- robots revolutionized by love
(I may have misinterpreted some of these... but it's more fun to crowd-source this stuff than look at the actual programme...)
15 April, 2009
18 March, 2009
Animated Graffiti

Go give the artist some love: this shit is more poetic than a thousand jolly rhymers will ever achieve.
8 December, 2008
Wasteland
This stinking cesspit of human filth
sucking the wealth of the country
into the Opulent Wasteland
Even rats living in their own shit
don't crowd together in so many millions
eating their young and puking blood
If you planted a giant white mushroom
in this garbage heap the Opulent Wasteland
it would be no loss to the world
No enslaved masses would mourn
I flee civilization heading west
leaving behind the Opulent Wasteland
the taste of ash in my mouth
the burning fuel the melting asphalt
unnoticed by the Cyborg the reactionary
I head into the fire
13 September, 2008
Crush you into the steps
The message behind this red tank moving inexorably up the steps of a train station in Italy seems to be one of warning, a show of strength, a cry of rage, of anger, of fear, a blood-curdling yell of, "We shall crush you! Crush you into the steps! Crush your head! Splinter your bones across the public transit system."
Stand against the red tank at your peril. Never mistake this military machine for a benign force, or think it's on your side or under your control. Never leap into the road to welcome your new crimson overlords. Run. Run for your lives. We cannot be stopped.
16 August, 2008
Real and imagined disgust
The New Scientist news service this week posted a story, 'Why real and imagined disgust have the same effect'. This story is based on an interesting article by Jabbi, Bastiaansen, & Keysers ('A Common Anterior Insula Representation of Disgust Observation, Experience and Imagination Shows Divergent Functional Connectivity Pathways', in PLoS ONE), which may have implications for the diagnosis and treatment of autism as well as behavioural studies of empathy. As you may recall, disgust and repugnance are topics that fascinate me (as they do most writers of disturbing literature). It disappoints me, therefore, that the authors of this study, looking for a passage of "disgusting" literature to test out on their experimental subjects, were unable to come up with anything better than this:
You turn around because someone is leaning on your shoulder, suddenly looking into the open mouth of a drunken beggar... you see his rotten teeth, surrounded by pustulant sores, while he suddenly releases the reeking content of his stomach all over you... You feel your stomach turn over as you suddenly feel the acidic taste of a clump of his vomit on your lips.
Next time call in a professional, gentlemen.
23 June, 2008
Spot the fallacies in this moronic review

Taken from the Bamff Poesie Revue, May/June 2008. The reviewer: does not deign to give his name; gets the title of my book wrong; confesses ignorance twice in this text, and yet still presumes to judge; clearly has never read nor written good poetry in his life; unwittingly admits to peculiar perversion in his choice of erotic titillation.
Precisely the sort of review no self-respecting author would pay any attention to.


