On I Will Rot Without You by Danger Slater

Every messianic cockroach needs its Holy Scripture in order to proliferate disciples across the blood-and-junk-mail flooded wasteland that Danger Slater has envisioned, and this book works as both revelatory Apocalypse and ex-canonical Apocrypha. And just like those other simulations of written spiritual longing for great god’s salty chasm, the final word here is love, but not love in the agape “and my brother is me and I am he and she is we” sense or even the romantic “my heart drops into my dick and pumps for days through my seminal vesicle into the beauty of your moonlit face” sense, but rather love as the great glue gun of the cosmos, that which unites and crushes us together until we are no longer recognizable as a separate entity from each other and, in this case, our skeletons fuck each other in a womb of our own united skin.

Danger has written one of the most literate and thoughtful pieces of Bizarro fiction that I have come across and I thank him for spreading the beauty of his rot.

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