Five latest books. Boycott Amazon by the way.

As everybody knows, Amazon are scumbags who do not allow unionization & treat their workers really shabbily. I don't want scabs reading my work, but I shall leave the Amazon links as they are, while I post here the five links to Lulu for the last ones. Later I shall post the Barnes & Nobles links when these are back in distribution. I feel that it is way better to get them from Lulu direct, or B&N.

Here the three about Emma.

pig correspondence at Lulu.

pig correspondence is a collection of poems that deal with McLean's relationship with time & temporality, his nihilistic axiology, moral issues, & a general critique of western values; all of these things seen through the lens of his feelings for Emma, the love of his life. The book was written before McLean took leave of his senses, left her & Sweden in 2017 for a brief interruption in the USA, which is the devil, at page 116. The last few poems were written very recently & represent both resurrection & a return to where one belongs, to Sweden his home, & the home of his biological family & of his Emma, & also a realization that, with her in his life, he & his life were better, & the insane faceless goddess was with them.

 ghosts go home at Lulu.

ghosts go home is David C. McLean's second book about his distaste for temporality, the insane goddess who refuses prayers, & his great love for Emma. There is more of a BDSM theme to this book, along with age play, pop culture references, less philosophy than usual, more sex. Inspiration, apart from Emma, is drawn from Roky Erickson, de Chirico, the Sisters of Mercy, Joakim Thåström, Gertrude Stein, phenomenology, & spanking. 

McLean himself manages to just avoid pornography, although the lady for whom it was written states "The poems are becoming pure deviant pornography. Let it happen."

we dance the ghost, Emma at Lulu.

This is the third book in David C. McLean's first trilogy of poems for Emma. McLean worships Emma, & regards her as his goddess & muse. He has never written better, & he is pretty sure that she is the best muse ever. One can see how, during the writing of this book, McLean suffered a form of nervous breakdown, but that the strength of his feelings for Emma pulled him back together, reassembled his membra disjecta. Love did that. Love heals. Additional themes, as so often, are posthumanism, antinatalism, animals, Lyotard & libidinal economy, & love always, sex & love. The title is, obviously enough, inspired by a song by the Sisters of Mercy. This book is published by POSTHUMAN POETRY & PROSE.

Here is my anti-novel, divinity extractor fan at Lulu.

This is a novel that became an anti-novel. It quotes extensively from Lyotard, Artaud, Nietzsche, & Burton's "The Anatomy of Melancholy". It explores the posthuman, antinatalism, overpopulation, & ecology. It is primarily an attempt by the author to identify his love for his muse, Emma, in the form of a bizarre prose poem that grew into a bizarre novel. Sacher-Masoch & St. Augustine of Hippo are sampled in & cited, with footnotes & everything. Deleuze & Guattari with their becoming-animal are featured as well, at some length.

& here an extended reissue of an older chapbook, this is called too little beast - too much human ii.

too little beast: too much human ii is David C. McLean's expansion & revision of his chapbook from Black Editions Press, too much human. The manifesto in the introduction has been rewritten to extend it from antinatalism to also include posthumanism. This extension was provoked by his growing dislike for humans & their goddam ideology, & his worship of another non-human, the love of his life, the wonderful Emma, McLean's brilliant muse & inspiration. This revision constitutes what is probably the last poetry book by McLean that will not be part of the poems for Emma series.

Anyway, solidarity with the unions, you little shits, no Amazon please. Not just for that one week, but do not use large multinationals if you can avoid it; use your local mom & pop store, or buy things direct from Lulu or the publishers wherever possible.

If you have to use Amazon, check my author page. None of these five is there now, but they will be there in a few weeks at most.

Here is a link to all the books at Lulu, at the spotlight for Posthuman Poetry & Prose.

passion is dead flesh

Next comes a chapbook from Black Editions Press, passion is dead flesh. Here it is at Lulu, and here at Amazon, though out of print, allegedly. EDIT: Now back on Amazon.

Sen här finns den på Bokus, fast den ska vara slutsåld. Detta ska åtgärdas snart. RED: Har åtgärdats

Both these latter sites shall be fixed soon, but for now the bugger is still on sale at the above link at Lulu.

Here's the blurb:

this is about the positivity & pleasure that hides at the heart of all the pain & hatred like a red rose in the murderer's heart, according to Genet. it is about the shit at the heart of all literature, everything here from Myra Hindley to Bodhidharma, fuck you very much.

Anyway, here are two poems from the thing

corpses & holes

& world becomes corpses & holes, a terrible amphetamine we never even bothered waiting a maybe. here is refrigerator ineffable, vulgar the reflux. the sower is not an answer unwritten a chance or even an absence it is the terrible seed groping at nothing, incessant perversion their religion is. ghost is vegetable refreshing her missing things, where it was the dead woman lived. i have forgotten her the melancholy vampire sleeping her abyss inside me, here is blood enough and insipid dreams to be
 

blueberry orgasm

the road is blueberry orgasm, tiny suicide is smelly their heaven. the laboring saviors are broken again, boring. we have a wall to stare at once, like Bodhidharma did, but are less than him

the best of them were always already dead & nothing isto be forgiving or forgot where suns come up, where moons are in us still enough the bone is abject & smoke rising over a battlefield is pointless ecstasy we cannot appropriate as easily as fish burn in insolent waters poorly

there might be flowers or razors, abject their answers are, here is tepid absolution & fuck me a forgotten

i do not care that i do not know the number of insects, or even if it might be odd or even, specific boundaries might make it indeterminate, or heaven again, skin & sullen business so memories are sex & bruises, where i am my meaningless

 

too much human

Here is one recent book by me. too much human, my antinatalist manifesto, it's here at Amazon, from Black Editions Press.

Or here it is at Adlibris, if you happen to be in Sweden. OBS att de inte garanterar leverans före julafton, men de säger inte att det inte kommer innan jul, så man vet ju aldrig, och det blir fan perfekt julklapp för mormor och morfar. 

& then here it is at Lulu, too, & I would naturally prefer it if it were purchased here, to maximize the filthy lucre coming my way.

Blurb follows.

A beautiful hand grenade of a book that would probably serve as effective population control for the hysterically reactive and weak of heart. Throw it into a crowd of SJWs and watch them die.

A.D. Hitchin, author of CONSENSUAL

& these two,

under the god

under every god they have assembled an ideology incessant & weighting impatient history with moral shackles the dread impediment

progress is the evolution of sanity from a vulgar sea of belief, image macros & the fossils left by the urge back to the ocean, the expectant sexuality of tolerant death

under their gods is innocent dust for pigs to root in their rutting insolence like a bishop in an orphanage painfully erect, under their gods they invented lies & death


perfectly ordinary orgasm

electric is in the walls a perfectly ordinary orgasm & the stolid corpse has never yet sniggered, though he is sorely tempted as night falls like a dead man laughing

& night was tied together from broken days & the skin that insisted that you live in it as if it were a unity & a confirmation of something that you strongly disapproved of in secret, since everybody runs around with confused & stupid opinions & is not man or woman enough to concede that he or she is an incorrigible cunt not worth the paper they are printed on & wasting air like being a fucking moron was going out of style

it was a corpse's conventional orgasm & made of tiny holes in time