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The Krewthedral web blog
The Krewthedral
Category:
Humor
Publisher: Booksurge
ISBN-10: 1419672258
Type: Fiction
Pages: 524
Copyright: July 5, 2007
ISBN-13: 9781419672255
A chance encounter leads to new friendships and comic adventures for an advertising agent living in a dystopian future.
Are you looking for a madcap, riotous, confronting read influenced by modernism, post-modernism, hyper-reality, Robocop, Predator 2, video games, drugs, car and techno music culture, with giant mecca robots and advertising?
The Krewthedral have built a novel called ‘The Krewthedral’ and now its time to read that build.
Prepare yourselves as you enter a kaleidoscopic, jump cut form of existence. If you found this novel via the internet, then The Krewthedral is a novel that the internet wants you to read.
Excerpt
There came a thick adrenalin roar and the kids experienced a panic rush as the ecstasy came on really strong. The crowd were flushed and woozy in rapture. I stepped down from the stage and walked amongst the crowd, each person’s walkman like a traumatic neuroma, a disorganised sprout of axonal fibres spreading sound into the proximal vicinity. Verdant chords and succulent melodies filled my ears; hundreds of snippets of melody swirled into pointillistic wholes, which were then sucked into aquamarine pools of keys; the spectacle of sound congealed in a waxy mass of marbled chords.
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Above us was the Robotticelli, digitally displayed through the inner surface of the Metro City Dome—and we were standing in the centre. Her beauty morphed into the terrible apparition, it gripped our petrified hearts and overtook our feeble minds. The Evil Demon of Image, transmuted through Evil Lord Grez, now controlled us: we were trapped in a hypnotic psychosis in which Evil Lord Grez communicated his cinematographic instructions. We tried to resist, to pull out of the quasar supermessianic black hole of this hyperreality, but masses of tiny threads engulfed our free will in a hideous strangulation until we became auto–communicating zombies—like Mad Gear we were slaves, and soon we would be producing movies. The first cinematic transcriptions were received as metastatic cascades of echogenic sludge material, it saturated our neuro–atomic circuits, a narcomania of snuff media and sexual pathology, sadomasochism and traumatic sexualization; cine–technic constructions of propriation, subjugation, dominance, pornography, incest, acceptance of rape myths, woman battering, traffic in women, an epidemic in male violence against women; all this ugly, necrophilic degradation, a woman’s nuclear winter; we were 'lovers' of death and dead things, revelling in orgies, ‘put your dick in my coffin, defiling the dead, demonic monster pathology fucking—a mania in recumbency with paddling of limbs…in the ecology of images, pain served as a mode of corporeal intensification.
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