Four dead in O-hio. Six million dead in Cambodia. Carnage on the freeway, carnage in the coal mines, big-breasted babes singing Wagner in Carnegie Hall.
The telltale canary. Throat lozenges and rice fields. Carbines and spent shells. Seat belts and air bags. The knot and the noose. The rooster crows and Judas slinks off to his coffin with a spike thru his heart.
Let’s get started now, let’s take a good run at it, let’s pretend the fairy godmother didn’t yank out our gold tooth. Let’s pretend the nightmare ends happily and wasn’t some sort of harbinger. Let’s pretend we didn’t sell our soul to the devil.
The quick fix, the easy fix, there is no System to set right again or bow down to. The Lie is bigger than all of us lumped together, even bigger than Disney Land.
What am I doing with a credit card, even if I do throw away the bonus points out of principle? What am I being given credit for, some form of allegiance? Who compiles all the answers, the seven dwarfs in the forest or fat bankers on Wall Street wrapped in flags?
Which-ever button you pushed it’s the wrong one, you don’t get the new Subaru and the trip to the coal mines, you don’t get to go to Kent State and set doves free. You don’t get to sing with Bob Dylan or carry a concealed weapon, you are a concealed weapon, getting scanned at the grocery store for gas points and potato chips. All you gotta do is love it, whether you understand it or not, and you don’t understand it, no one does, it’s a dark rush of extinction.
This has been a history lesson. The one true history that no one has the guts or the know-how to write down. Please excuse my feeble attempt, my whacked-out grammar and emotional ups and downs, my twisted stab at belonging. I’ll let it rest now and let you scoot on out to the barbecue.
Just remember this: the British had it coming. That should carry you over to Christmas.
HCOLOM PRESS is the heir to Vagabond Press, which began as a main player in the Mimeo Revolution of the Sixties and continued publishing right into the jaws of the new millennium. HCOLOM PRESS embodies the spirit of Vagabond Press, retooled for the times we live in.
Hcolom is Moloch spelled backwards. Moloch is an Old Testament deity to which children were sacrificed, a practice society still engages in with increased enthusiasm. Consumerism is the new Moloch, manifesting itself like cancer in war, politics, the arts and religion, in every nook and cranny of human endeavor, draining the intrinsic beauty out of life and mutilating the innocence and magic of childhood with its commercial meat hook. HCOLOM PRESS intends to publish books that by their nature repudiate this pernicious force–novels, poetry, children’s books and books that transcend genre.
Our launch book, in June of 2006, was John Bennett’s novel, Tire Grabbers, a fable of sorts, a reality book rooted in the fantasy of our times, the story of the coming of Moloch and the children who rise up in rebellion against it.
Books of kindred spirit will follow close on its heels. Go for it by clicking here… or hit the Hcolom logo above…