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THE FREE PRESS DEATH SHIP #3
In true piratical fashion the new Death Ship
opens with a scourging of the monopoly held by the ISBN (International Standard Book Number) licensing system, declaring it
the very antithesis of the Free Press. This is followed by a look at “The ISBN Mystery” by Travis Klein (which
also appeared in The Match!), while lengthy letters section (15 pages) argues about
the very same concept, and further on there’s an anonymous rant, “Why I Refuse to be Numbered.” Also included
are quotations from the enigmatic Ret Marut/B. Traven (“Only when they have become rebels will I regard them as capable
of understanding what it is to be human, and be able to bear it.”), the second half of an interview with one-man free
press engine Fred Woodworth, articles on mail art and printing technology (non-computer related, of course) and, comprising
the greater portion of the Death Ship, the reviews! Many pages long, this section
features only hard-copy zines, with reviews varying between sentence fragments and half-page excerpts & commentary. These
latter are usually those publications Jones empathizes with, anarchist/free-press/independent types. Within the pages (or
should I say upon the decks?) of the Death Ship these days there seems to be an
ever-increasing trend toward politicizing the free press, agitating toward an anti-Internet/anti-ISBN movement. And while
I agree with some aspects of this ideology (hard-copy publications are better, yes, and it befits the independent underground
press to avoid licensing and control by various corporations and institutions), I still believe that any and all avenues of
expression, publication, and distribution are valid and potentially useful ones; if someone is determined to ‘get their
word out’ they will find the appropriate manner in which to do so without being swayed by the ranting of any particular
free press faction or the capitalistic pressure of ‘the System.’ But despite the agitation the Free Press Death Ship has quite a lot to offer, and as has every issue in the past number three provides a goodly
amount of information and contact addresses along with a little bit of food for thought.
* * *
Free / donation (no checks) from Violet Jones – P.O. Box
55336, Hayward, CA, 94545
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FUCK VOL. 2 #1
It’s a whole new Fuckin’ world – one even more disturbed than that reflected in the many issues of the first incarnation
of Fuck magazine. Gone are the racist, sexist and Martian screeds of the past;
still appearing in full force are the freaks, nudes, mutations and atrocities of before, collaged together with a string of
nonsense inspired enough to make funeral parlors feel like kindergartens – and vice-versa. Tumor piles, birth defects,
Hilfiger Bin Laden, layered screaming faces, smiling chairs, “Concerto for Air Conditioner + Car Alarm,” breathing
walls with eyes, Retard Foo-Yung, fairy tales of the lunacy of common objects, meaningless photographs (or are they…?),
nonsense phrases (or are they; “Inside outside what’s the difference between you and a pile of hot dogs.”),
mongoloid nun porn, sing-song poems that read like witches’ spells, living smudges, talking food, “Thirteen Hundred
Hours Until Midnight” comix, scribbles & bits, handicapped brainwaves wrought on paper, a “fetching young
sprout,” aardvarks of toast (aardvarks of toast), hallucinations, pickles, flying wigs, bulbous cartoons… All
dance together in a violently haphazard layout random enough to reflect the great design and give birth to more than a few
ghosts in the process. The product of a mind completely unrestricted, this Fuck
is a black magic art brut masterpiece; brilliantly retarded and profoundly disturbing, reading this is akin to being put under
a spell of enlightened enfeeblement – with each page that’s turned more mind-boggling mongolism is exposed and
you can actually feel yourself slipping away into the twilight region of some institutional ward. And if you’ve heard the Doctor’s Shiggy Diggy Dee, remember: “It’s Peanut Time 1980 Percent of the Time.”
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FUCK Vol. 2 #2
Sidewalk scraps given voice, demented collage actors, photos of found items
with strange captions, peculiar punchlines in random patterns, threats and laughter mingling aimlessly, garbage speaks, cabbage
snowman, angry car-freshener, brilliant t-shirt ideas, “A piece of dogshit with a fork in it on a dollar bill with a
barrette,” “Nebbish and Randall About Chickens,” “Jar of Vaseline with doll head $20.00,” and
rants such as “My Advice for Vice,” “Car Less” and “Will You be the One?” Not quite the
full-blown brain-bursting mindfuck the previous visionary issue was, but will still have you scratching your cup of noodles
and coming away with a fuzzy conscience. “No matter how you look at it – I gotta put my shoes on.”
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THE FUGLIES #1 - By Steve Carter &
Antoinette Rydyr
The first
new release from the SCAR team in some months, The Fuglies is also one of their
more complex and richly illustrated independent comix. Taking place on a wild world (as many of SCAR’s tales do), the
story concerns the differences between the planet’s mutant-infested badlands and the inhabitants of the pure and bureaucratic
Perfectown. When criminal elements from one become entangled in the other, and the line between civilization and savagery
are blurred, the opportunities are ripe for pages of violent battles, gruesomely detailed monsters, cannibalism, revenge,
and other assorted acts of mayhem. Not to mention a healthy serving of T&A. And although the issue seems to end with a
note of closure rather than a cliffhanger, a sufficient number of questionable characters are left alive to provide ample
material for further installments. Take a look, and as always ask for a list of Steve and Antoinette’s impressive line
of other titles.
* * * *
$5.00(?) from Steve Carter and Antoinette Rydyr, P.O. Box 312,
Greenacre, NSW 2190, Australia
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GALATEA LIVES #21
Sadly, this is the last issue of Galatea
Lives. This is truly too bad, as informed and rational thinking are becoming increasingly rare, especially in the independent
publishing spectrum. Some of this thinking is clearly reflected in the collected Introit and the ever-mindful “Global
Warming Watch” (as I type this, scientists are becoming ‘alarmed’ over the fact that global warming is breeding
stronger hurricanes now and not in some distant future), as they are in “Elections Everywhere: Reasons for Hope.”
This article voices the surprising, and surprisingly acute, forward-thinking opinion that George W. may actually be good for the Middle
East. There are a few “Predictions” and “Basic Principals” to tide the reader over in
the coming dearth of future issues, some correspondence and a look at “The China Problem” (fostered by the European
Union). As always, most thought provoking. The passing of Galatea Lives will most
surely leave a vacuum.
* * * *
Cash + age statement from Jeffrey Deboo – P.O. Box 930, Gresham,
OR, 97030-0214
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GEOMA - By Jim Sumii
Here’s a rather elegant departure for the prolific Jim Sumii – a square-sized,
professionally printed, full color portfolio entitled Geoma (“A Picture Book”).
No Bad Girls or other comix here, instead Geoma
resembles a polished color-washed edition of Head Case; within these 28 glossy
pages are six titled color (pen & ink and watercolor) works bearing a subtle mythic resonance in Sumii’s trademark
iconic/archetypal style, five handsome black & white pieces (the bold “Infinity” stands out most among them),
a page of small reproductions including what look like a few images that didn’t make the full-page cut, a colorful lotus-like
emblem and, one of my favorites, the back cover’s mirror-image katydid/grasshopper bug. All that’s missing is
the 7” single of appropriately esoteric music that the package cries out for (the ideal cover for which might have been
guest artist Leila Ramella’s “Instant,” which wraps the inside covers). Unfortunately if you don’t
already have a copy of Geoma chances of getting one might be slim. Printed in an
extremely limited edition of only 100 copies, Geoma was apparently designed as
a small press gift run rather than a quick buck vanity project. And while that’s a good thing for the most part it may
leave a few fans hungry. It’s very much worth asking after however, so you might want to drop Sumii a line.
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GOREGASM #2
It’s been a little while, but Australian
art duo S.C.A.R. has released another portfolio of graphically disturbing and arousing artwork. A collection of explicitly
detailed drawings (and a painting or two) largely picturing women as bestial tyrants or as victims of rapacious creatures,
it’s obvious that these works are viciously anti-PC. But instead of reveling in misogyny many of these panels are in
fact aimed directly at the fascistic feminist censorship front. (And feminist hysterics can go get fucked; half of the S.C.A.R.
team is a woman.) Harpies in various guises, from winged demons to Nazi pig bikers and beyond, tear their living male prey
apart in a number of gruesome ways while their human counterparts suffer rape and evisceration from anthropomorphic warthogs,
gorilla monsters, aliens and more. It’s a feast for the eyes, so long as you’re not on the timid or politically
correct side of the art world.
* * *
$5.00
+ postage from S.C.A.R. – www.piranhaquasar.com – P.O. Box 312, Greenacre, NSW 2190, Australia
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HAPPY #3: ZIRKUS - By Josh Simmons
Hot DAMN! Following up both his most excellent Happy
#2 and the incredible Zirkus New Orleans, non-stop comic hurler Josh Simmons puts
the best of both together for Happy #3: Zirkus (or Happy: Zirkus (#3)). In this collision of comix worlds our narrator accompanies the Know Nothing Family Zirkus
ZideZhow (stars of the aforementioned Zirkus New Orleans) and the End of the World
Cirkus as they join forces to tour the East Coast. And what an ensemble it is! Witness bizarre proceedings on every page:
“Elephant in the Audobon!” “Tall-Bike Jousting!” “Frikkin’ Sasquatch on the Loose!”
“Nostril Dumb-Ass!” “Satan John!” (“I am Satan! I am a genuine freak of nature!”) “The
Unbelievable Human Cannonball!” The one and only “BLAIR!” “All-Day Ass!” “Tapeball!”
The great new gameshow “What’s Up Your Ass?!” And beware the horrible attentions of “Mr. Pouty-Face!”
Plus flaming swords, pie fights, plain old fights, dumpster-diving, puppets, costumes, tattoos, a kidney infection, and lots
& lots of humpy. Josh’s detailed and observant comix panels capture his alternating enthrallment and disgust with
the proceedings, as the situation constantly flip-flops between wild good times and gutter-punk blues and the constant-on-the-road
shenanigans gradually wear him down. And this is only part one! Next issue promises New York City, and you know that’s
gonna be a trip. “What stupid fun.”
* * * *
$3.50 + age statement from Top Shelf Productions – P.O. Box
1282, Marietta, GA, 30061-1282
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HAPPY #4: FEMALE - By Josh Simmons
Break out
that smile-box, fucker, ‘cause it’s time once again to get good and fucking HAPPY!
Issue four of Josh Simmons’ comix excursion jumps right in and picks up where last issue left off, on tour with the
indescribable Zirkus (indescribable, that is, were it not for Simmons’ most capable renderings). After a brief stopover
at PA’s hippie Eden of Cherrymont Farm, the Zirkus trucks it on into NYC’s meat-packing district for a frustrating
gay night club show, then goes to Brooklyn for a wilder performance that includes nudity, Black Santa, pussylips of steel,
the Vagina Monster, enema cereal, and auto-fellatio. There’s a climactic finale, and “At that point I’d
had my fill of Cirkus, so I left . . .” There follows a portfolio of “Scary Monsters” (“Rar.”);
the theme of the issue, “Female – An Ode,” appreciates said sex for all of their utter femaleness; and what
might be considered a public service announcement regarding the dangers of . . . dental floss. It’s all quite enough
to make me Happy. Well, except for the fact that this is the last issue. But have no fear, Josh is already working away at
his first “silent full-length graphic novel horror tale,” which, having seen a number of Josh’s spooky harder-core
underground comix, I can say is sure to kick some mighty, mighty ass. If the fucking dental floss doesn’t kill him first,
that is . . .
* * * *
$3.50 (+ age statement?) from Top Shelf Productions – www.topshelfcomix.com – P.O. Box 1282, Marietta, GA, 30061-1282
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HARDON - By Miguel Angel Martin
“100% Pornografia” states the cover, and this disclaimer does not lie. Miguel
Angel Martin returns to his 200-proof hardcore roots with this collection of triple-X comix tales, loaded with ultra-graphic
panels of ejaculation, anal sex, and “Shitfun.” Piss, shit, and semen are thrown around quite liberally as the
rubber-clad contestants romp through nine stories of voluntary degradation, appearing to enjoy it all whether they’re
receiving an “Anal Probe,” being serviced by a “Rubber Plumper” or a “Silicon Whore,”
“Feltching,” test driving the “Sybian,” or simply getting an old-fashioned “Hand Job.”
These full-color pornographic euro-comics manage to be somehow sleazy and classy at the same time, making them ideal fare
for both bedside and coffee table. (In Spanish.)
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HEAD CASE #1
Yee-Haw! In lieu of Fecus Master Sumii brings
us another wild collection of weirdness, comix, and art in the form of Head Case.
Returning here are Sumii’s classic totemic mirror image-style illustrations, including the central “Mystery of
the Bat-Zombie,” a little more zombie action in a crossover with Bad Girls
Tura and Eva, some collector’s card-style “Weekly Freakies” that resemble a cross between Wacky Packs and
Basil Wolverton, hijinks with Horace & Roscoe, and a startling Picasso-esque piece. Action, art, variety, it’s all
here and it’s all good. (And I mean that in a literal and not a colloquial sense.)
* * * *
$2.00 from Jim Sumii at Fecus Central – www.jsumii.com – P.O. Box 6168, Boise, ID, 83707-6168
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HOAX #1
This excellent comix compendium, available in April from Mental Note Press,
begins with “Yolk” by Eleanor Davis, wherein a slacker type encounters some casually eerie synchronicity through
party girls and breakfast food in a Carrie McNinch-meets-Peter Bagge kind of style. Karl Kressbach’s “Reality Blvd.:
Terminal” is a disturbingly detailed terrorist plague vision conducted in acidic line shading; Nate Neal’s “American
Protest” is a mildly Thompson-esque saga of political (in)action (“Sweet fuckery!”) with the odd endnote
of independent wealth being the only way out; “Cannibalism – A Treatise on a Misunderstood Behavior” by
Lydia Gregg examines the activity through natural science-style drawings and what some may see as an unnerving suggestion;
and then there’s “Captured On a Petridish” by Mitch Hess. The inside covers feature Hoax Spring Calendars,
sprinkled with assassinations, dictators, massacres and disasters, and the front covers feature a nice interweaving of storylines
in almost boardgame fashion. A very impressive first issue, here’s hoping new issues see an even greater expansion in
page count and contributors.
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HORROR HEADS #1
In this violent sci-fi outing the S.C.A.R.
team creates an alien world war in which human beings are pitted against the Horror Heads, “tribes of mutant amazons”
with monstrous faces topping their voluptuous bodies. In the wasteland created by environmental decimation and genetic experimentation,
the Horror Heads ambush citizens struggling through the badlands in transport trains, killing some, enslaving others, and
using some of the poor bastards for breeding stock. And for those men that can’t get it up for the acid-faced creatures,
an even more horrible fate lies in store. In this chapter one such doomed soul is rescued from the enclave of the Horror Heads
and brought back to human society to plan a strike force intended to eliminate the creatures entirely; the next issue promises
to be all-out war. Great detail is given to the foreign landscape and the unusual creatures populating the world, as well
as the gruesome fates of the fallen fighters. As with many of S.C.A.R.’s comix works the pairing of science fiction
with graphic horror works well, ensuring a visceral and entertaining read. They’ve got a vast back catalog of titles
as well, so be sure to request a listing when ordering.
* * *
$5.00
+ postage from S.C.A.R. – www.piranhaquasar.com – P.O. Box 312, Greenacre, NSW 2190, Australia
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HOSTILE CITY OR BUST - By Phil Irwin
It’s a minor American nightmare, moving. Try to pack the family and a lifetime of
crap into a trailer and head out cross-country, and you’re asking for a stressor the size of divorce or major surgery.
And on a cautionary yet ultimately triumphant note, Hostile City or Bust brings
forth the saga of the Irwin family (the Whiskey Rebel himself, wife Marla, and son Elvis) and their Eastbound escape from
the self-righteous hidey-hole of Portland, Oregon, to the one and only Hostile City, U.S.A. (Philadelphia, PA). Defying fair-weather
friends, ill advice, and even death itself at times, Irwin and family scope out the new homeland, box up the household, unload
the cats, and set out in the “War Wagon” for a new life in the cheesesteak capitol of the world. And you can literally
feel Irwin’s muscles tense and his nerves twitch as he deals with travel and accomodation aggravations, both real and
imagined, each and every mile of the way. Every hassle and hazard conquered seems to lead only to an exponentially greater
series of grievous encounters, or at least the expectation of such, as Irwin tests the limits of vehicular tolerance and human
endurance with a running stream of bitching and grieving that reaches epically comedic proportions. Braving narrow wind-swept
bridges, tornadoes, flaming tires, mountains, and national monuments, the War Wagon creeps across the nation underneath the
speed limit as the family deals with beershits, crowds, unscrupulous servicepeople, stress, and even the infamous disappearing
pizza. And after facing countless tiny terrors the Irwins reach South Philly only to have to deal with the grief of storage,
new native customs, home rental, shifty employers, and Catholic prejudice. One thing and one thing only helps the Whiskey
Rebel stay the course: booze, and plenty of it. “Ah, the power of positive drinking!” And cursing, of course.
Lots of cursing. But it ain’t all a bad time, as Irwin’s honesty and humor conveys all of the journey’s
small victories and comforts to the reader as well, and the book ends with everything working out better than expected, along
with a positive note about the noble pioneer spirit. At 105 pages Hostile City or Bust
is a much more moderate and approachable length than Irwin’s previous Jobjumper
(hell, I took this in to the crapper to read and actually came out and finished the entire thing in a sitting), and while
it may be a little slim for twelve bucks it’s most definitely a quick and engaging read. Just don’t pick it up
right before your next move . . .
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HUMAN DOG POUND #3 - By D. Rat
Donzo’s really been pounding away at the Human
Dog Pound, as not only is this third issue fresh off the copier but a fourth is already underway. Lots more bold bad acid-inspired
comix of Nazi sex gore here, as dismemberment, Manson girl zombies, dog-fuckers, the Ivan Brunetti-inspired “Piece of
Shit,” the misanthropic “Piggy,” and a horny-ass “Rockin’ Jesus” all trip across these
pages. Also more prevalent in this issues are the text and collage sections, featuring not only loads of ads and excerpts
from “men’s magazines” (you know the kind) but even a lengthy article on Aussie sex slave killers David
and Catherine Birnie. Still about as hardcore and underground as you’re going to be able to find most places, if you
liked Boiled Angel you’re gonna dig HDP
for sure.
* * *
$4.00 (+ age statement & postage?) from D. Rat - P.O. Box 1662,
West Perth, WA 6872, Australia
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HUMAN DOG POUND #4 - By D. Rat
Sick Aussie
fuck D. Rat is at ‘er again, slinging out another hate-filled eruption of comix & true crime. “Blunder Town”
is fulla freaks and murders, there’s a centerpiece board game called “FUCK I’m Dead!” and pages o’
the likes of bugs eatin’ dead bodies, sasquatch murders, Mau Mau monkey pin-ups (YES!), and just plain crazed psycho
shit like burning circuses and nekkid zombie chick rock ‘n rollers. Oh yeah, and newsclippings of violent mayhem, sexual
miscreants, and other monkey business. And what can I say, but I LIKE IT! It is most definitely “For Mature Readers”
however, so careful lest you end up like the little girl on the cover. “Hey Fucko!” (Donzo’s also the guitarist
for Australian punk ensemble The Homicides, so keep posted for a review of their CD here in the Audio section of Paniscus Revue.)
* * * *
$4.00 (+ age statement & postage?) from D. Rat - P.O. Box 1662,
West Perth, WA 6872, Australia
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THE HUNGOVER GOURMET #8
Ah, the new Hungover Gourmet – pull up
the Pilsner glass and a pile of crab cakes and dive on in! The theme of this issue is “things that are no more”
(places that are gone), so naturally it has a bit more melancholic an air than past issues of “The Journal of Food,
Drink, Travel & Fun.” Fond farewells and sorrowful odes alike are bade to Vet Stadium, Center City theaters, Sam’s
58 Club, Coleman’s (“Scenes From My Family’s Restaurant” by Christine Coleman Taylor), and more (including
a disappointingly long list of “Eateries That Are Gone”), along with William P. Tandy’s childhood reminiscence
of Jersey’s Ocean City, “Then We Were Six.” But it’s not all sadly sentimental, as articles on the
Martini (by Nick Walton), “The Bartender’s Hiccup Cure,” and a rack of intriguing restaurant reviews help
balance the heartfelt eulogies to establishments past. Who knows what the next issue will bring, but submissions are being
accepted until September 1 (at editor | | | |
