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My Love Affair With David Lynch and Peachy Like Nietzsche: Dark Clown Porn Snuff for Terrorists and Gorefiends [Paperback]

Jason Rogers , David, L. Tamarin

Price: 8.22 & FREE Delivery in the UK on orders over 10. Details
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Book Description

5 Oct 2005
This is the novella My Love Affair with David Lynch by Jason Rogers and Peachy Like Nietzsche: Dark Clown Porn Snuff for Terrorists and Gorefiends, the short story collection by David Tamarin. This is absurd, surreal, dark, demented, and bizzaro literature at its...well...most screwed up.

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More About the Author

I am a writer, actor, producer, script-writer, and attorney. I write extreme brutal and surreal fiction that is at times surreal, at times darkly humorous, at times just plain bizarre. Reading David L Tamarin is known to cause hallucinations, priapism, anxiety, delirium, and other mental disorders. Read with caution. Adults only fiction. I am a columnist for the magazine Girls and Corpses and for several websites, including Severed Cinema, where I write my column Ugly World.

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Amazon.com: 2.8 out of 5 stars  4 reviews
4 of 5 people found the following review helpful
1.0 out of 5 stars At least it's consistent in its badness. 1 Mar 2006
By Robert Beveridge - Published on Amazon.com
Jason Rogers and David L. Tamarin, My Love Affair with David Lynch and Peachy Like Nietzsche: Dark Clown Porn Snuff for Terrorists and Gore Fiends (Lulu, 2005)

A split novel? Hey, why not? Musicians have been putting out split albums for years. It's not a split novel, exactly. Rogers' half is a novella, Tamarin's a batch of short stories. But still, it's a split. All that's missing is the long track in the middle where the two bands-- erm, authors-- collaborate. That, however, may be a blessing in disguise.

We start with Rogers' novella My Love Affair with David Lynch. Which would be readable, except that (a) American postmodern avant-garde of this stripe died with Kathy Acker, (b) even Kathy Acker had stopped writing in it for years before she died, and (c) Rogers is not nearly the writer Kathy Acker was. He's not even the writer Bradley Lastname was. (Maybe on a par with Mark Amerika.) Whole pages are here for the sole purpose of filling space. Which would probably be okay, or at least better, if they were blank, or had that stupid "this page intentionally left blank" statement. But no; there is a page and a half early on here entirely filled with the letter s in italic. Bored yet? It gets worse-- every once in a while, Rogers interjects bits about his aims with the novel, how the reader won't understand it, and how it can be original despite the fact that Rogers was inspired by Lynch while writing it. This sort of thing didn't work for Joan Didion thirty years ago in Democracy, and, as Didion's recent National Book Award would seem to convey, Didion's a pretty good writer. Rogers, on the other hand, is not. I can't even find a way to put him in the "amusingly bad" category.

So, having struggled your way through the first half, you get to the work of David L. Tamarin. You are, I assume, hoping that the book will improve and provide you with some amusement, at least, for its rather exorbitant (given its length) cover price.

Um, no.

Tamarin's short stories are of the extreme-horror variety. Which is all well and good. I am a huge fan of extreme horror when it's done well; Edward Lee, Charlee Jacob, and Monica O'Rourke all do extreme horror very, very well, and I love their stuff. The difference between Tamarin and, say, O'Rourke is that O'Rourke understands that in order for a story, even a piece of "flash fiction," to work, there has to be some sort of character development; a story is going to fall flat if the reader doesn't care about the characters. (Amusingly, Rogers mentions this in his novella.) Tamarin, on the other hand, expends absolutely zero energy on building his characters; what few one can find that have any details penned in about them are quite literally generic; all have the same habits (specifically, the same crack habit, which leads to the crack pipe getting too hot to hold, and dropped) and the same mode of speaking. There is no way to tell one protagonist from another in the first-person stories. Which is not terribly surprising, as the voice doesn't change in the third-person stories, either. Tamarin, it seems, is not interested in giving us characters to care about; he's interested in taking cardboard cutouts (and some of the characters are too flimsy to even be called cardboard) and putting them into situations that might shock, offend, or titillate a reader. The problem is that when your characters aren't real, no one cares. Were one of Charlee Jacob's characters to have these things done to them, it would be devastating. (And, quite frankly, I'm somewhat surprised none have by now.) One cannot say the same here; what is supposed to shock, offend, and titillate us bores, or at best amuses for a few seconds.

Tamarin tells us, at least twice, that those reading this book should send him money so he can write full-time. It seems to me the money would be far better spent on a few classes on character development.

I cannot, in fact, come up with a single thing to recommend about this book. It gets half a star because I finished it, but the best thing I can say about it is that, because I picked this year to expose myself to the horror that is Janine Cross' Touched by Venom, this will not be the worst book I read this year. (half)
2 of 4 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars striking fear into the brains/bowels of readers... 22 Dec 2005
By Michael Smith - Published on Amazon.com
on the surface, you may wonder what rogers and tamarin have in common with one another. to the untrained eye, it may appear as if two relatively obscure writers collaborated on a split book for the sake of collaborating on a split book, but, nay.

the one element these two fine lads have in common is that they command a response from the reader. while rogers invokes the lynchian muse to challenge your brain, tamarin puts the strength of your stomach to the test.

if they had included a third writer that infected you with the ebola virus, i'd consider it par for the course.

now, not to dissuade you, but 'my love affair with david lynch' is difficult, in much the same way as ben marcus' 'the age of wire and string' is. that is to say, it demands a significant amount of textual attention; it's more about purpose than plot. but if you're patient, rogers rewards you with a noble piece of stylistic avant-garde/experimentation. i can't immediately comment on the content, as i'm of the mind that it will take a few read-throughs before i can successfully do so. but rogers has impressed me in the past (most notably, his flash-fiction contributions to the surrealist journal 'bust down the door and eat all the chickens'), so he's earned my dedication to understanding his forays into the avant-garde.

'peachy like nietzsche...' is a whole different type of beast. pure, unadulterated (and i mean unadulterated!!) extremist literature. 'freek fiction', as tamarin labels it. now, i've stomached stokoe's 'cows' and ellis' 'american psycho', but these two cult "classicks" didn't prepare me for the content tamarin conjures. i've been raving about 'hurting my toys' since squirming through it. the plot isn't extravagant, but, my lord, the descriptive elements made me nauseous. i s@#t you not. physically ill. now, anything that evokes that type of visceral response is worthy of owning, i say. not to be outdone, there are some fantastic tales here ('little jimmy wanted a baseball' also comes to mind).

all in all, 4 stars due to some grammatical/editing mistakes (i know, i know, it sounds trivial, but it makes the english major in me grind my teeth).

so, reward your brain (rogers) and your stomach (tamarin) by buying this and do your part to support two talented and creative underground writers.
1 of 4 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars Remove from school libraries!!!!!!!! 21 Feb 2006
By Jeffrey W. Prescott - Published on Amazon.com
This book is really different from what Rogers usually writes. This is a first combined writing with another author of the same genre. What I loved about this book was that it is one of the ballsiest workings of the printed word that I have read. What I hated was that I wanted to puke constantly while reading it. It is graphic-especially the second half-mostly just to shock and it lacks real artistic integrity. The first half is more poetic and dark-really enjoyable. I suggest this if you are tired James Pattersons descriptions of gore and really want to be violated literally.
2 of 6 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars insane 28 Oct 2005
By David L. Tamarin - Published on Amazon.com
I wrote one half of this double novella and Jason Rogers, who is insane, wrote the other half. So is his writing. It's more a work of art in the form of words than it is a linear story. Either way, he is a lunatic and a terrorist of the written word, although my half of the book is better.

I had to give the book a rating to say this, so I am giving it a three because of my obvious bias
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