Fiction Collective Two is an author-run, not-for-profit publisher of artistically adventurous, non-traditional fiction.

Sexual Blood

Sexual Blood

187 pages
$9.00

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Taking off from the cult-success of his first novel, The Kafka Chronicles, Mark Amerika's breakthrough second novel, Sexual Blood, is a wild trip through the dark side of America's media-manipulated consciousness. His main character, Mal, an alternative rock musician, has a strange encounter with the Medicine Woman which causes him to hallucinate in a fantasy land populated by all of his former lovers. Mal, hoping to repent for all of the emotional damage he's caused in the past, seeks a magic transfusion that will turn him into a compassionate human being; this is when he enters the realm of the Sexual Blood. Charged with a sensual language not seen since Henry Miller, Amerika's mix of grunge rockers, reality hackers, expatriates and guerilla artists opens up in an erotic world lost in a theater of cruelty.

The real counterculture is not gone. Mark Amerika is proof of that...Here we have a writer who unravels his male heterosexuality as thoroughly as any post-feminist, who's willing to make disturbing accusations against mainstream culture, while simultaneously wrestling with postmodernity."—Philadelphia Inquirer

"Amerika has taken the classic structure of the novel, run it through a postmodern mixer and poured it into a form that most resembles the brain patterns of a video game junkie about to beat his high score." —Denver Post

"Fiction for {Amerika} becomes a kind of whirling acid trip, an anti-narrative-as-mind-altering drug that makes you see the universe and language like you've never seen them before. The outcome of these breathless heteroglossic strobes is part Leyner-ed Ginsberg, part Acker-ed Burroughs, part some kind of mutant Dexadrined Beckett..." —American Book Review

A remarkable book, it held me all the way. Mr. Amerika—if indeed that is his name—has achieved a unique beauty in his most artful marriage of Blake's lyricism and the iron-in-the-soul of Celine. Are we talking a new and hard-hitting Antonin Artaud? Absolutely. And much more." —Terry Southern, author of Candy and The Magic Christian and screenwriter for Dr. Strangelove and Easy Rider

"...all of Amerika's experiences contribute to his disjointed, driving writing style..."—National Public Radio's New Letters On The Air

"...contemporary, media-savvy space..."—Village Voice

"Mark Amerika is showing us that William Burroughs came out of jazz knowledge and that now everything's political—and everything's coming out through the lens of sexuality." — Kathy Acker, author of Empire of the Senseless and Blood and Guts in High School


Excerpt

With the help of the three egg-women VAL flagellated himself to the Amnion Station. He still found himself feeling the need to see his outer category as Male. This is how others would perceive him no matter what kind of changes he'll have gone through internally. So when the attendant at the Amnion Station asked this group who this sperm was it was VAL who answered:


"I'm Valerie. From where I came I'm Maldoror. The difference between the two is how they present themselves. I have come to see the Goddess Shakti."


The attendant was kind of sardonic.


"Yeah, Pal, or VAL, or whoever you are, we all want to see the Goddess Shakti. But it ain't that easy. Lemme see yer papers"


"Papers?" VAL looked at the three blond women who had escorted him.


"He doesn't have any papers," said the serious one.


"He's paperless"


"Which is why he's going to see Shakti," said the shorter one.


"She'll imbibe him with mediumistic loveenergy so that he'll finally unwrite himself. The Unwritten do not need any papers. They are…"


"Silence," the attendant said again, this time more sweet.


"They are Silence. I'm just giving you a hard time VAL. It's probably because I'm nervous for you. I've got this weird maternal thing for anyone that even looks like a sperm. What can I say? It's in my genes or something. And so I start getting real schizo whenever something strange like this starts to happen. Oh dearest VAL, I'm so nervous for you. Who knows if we'll ever see you again? I'm, I'm not sure this is so good for you. But I guess it's not my place to decide. Anyway, here's the Genetic Encoder. It's made by G.E., get it? Oh god, why do I even pretend to have no interest in these things? It's like I can lose total control any second. Like now. But I won't. It's just not right. Wait a second: I need to gain my composure here. For godsakes, I'm a professional. Okay. I'm okay. You are too VAL. Don't worry. Step inside the encoder and a balloon of liquid data will protect you and your partner on the Journey. You'll have to choose one of these three women as your partner. Please decide quickly since the hormonal walls of the Greater Mother's Womb are just now preparing for your arrival." Felt his heart beat faster. He couldn't decide.


"Please, VAL," said the serious one whose zipper was all the way down. The top of her cunt was hanging out the edges of her jumpsuit.


"It will be her," said VAL.


"Good," said the attendant, "now if you both will please step inside the G.E. this will only take a few seconds to get started."


Both VAL and his partner said goodbye to the attendant and the other two egg-women who had tears streaming down their faces.


"Emotions," said VAL.


"Emotions will conquer all."


And into the Genetic Encoder they went.


Inside the G.E. they felt nothing. They were systematically merging into one cell whereupon the first words VAL said to this partner were: "I don't even know your name."


"I'm Isadora."


"Huh, that's funny, my father's name was Isadore."


"It happens." They were lying side by side as an envelope of tingling fluid encased them. They dug this immensely. It was the kind of feeling you wished would last forever.


"I wish this would last forever."


"It can't. Nothing lasts forever."


"Okay, you be the pragmatic one. I'll be the irrational nutcase."


"No, I wanna be the irrational nutcase."


"Do people really talk like this?"


"It depends."


"Depends on what?"


"On what you mean by people. I'm not a person."


"Then what are you?"


"I'm an amphibian. I'm an androgynous sex cell. I'm out to turn people into feelings."


"I'm feelings myself. Me myself an I. A feeling."


"Emotions rule. I can feel it in my skin."


"You don't have any skin."


"Well actually I do. It's the skin of feeling. Wanna feel?"


"Sure." Someone copped a feel.


"Wow."


"That's incredible, isn't it?"


"It really is. What did you say that was?"


"Sin. I mean skin. The art of feeling."


"It's not an art! C'mon…"


"No, really, it is. Feel again." Someone feels again.


"Nug."


"Huh?"


"Nug. Nug nug nug."


"Those are my tubers. A whole forest of tubers awaits us, I'm sure. I've heard about it. There are stories."


"Nuhg."


"Nuhh. Nugh. Nuhhh."