My first book of fiction now available from Deathless Press.
It’s a Polish postmodern fairy tale.
“The House of Zabka” by Marcus Slease
A Polish folk tale meets Kurt Vonnegut’s surreal science fiction. A visionary, oracular original fairy tale that follows a butcher’s daughter to the deepest, darkest, strangest depths of the forest. A playful walk with a sausage-dog companion past sex shops and donuts, including a plastic dragon that will breathe fire if you text message it.
Each chapbook is roughly 4.25” x 5.5”, handmade in a limited edition of 60. Stapled with handmade endpapers. Endpapers for “The House of Zabka” are marbled metallic multicolored Nepalese Lokta papers.
“I prefer to admire lovely weather from afar,” said the clown—removing the last of her make-up. “Walls and windows equal safety. The moment I step outside”—pausing, she draped a towel over her shoulders, then repeated: “The moment I step outside, no matter how delicate warm the sun, or soft the breeze—no matter how politely semi-silent bystanders and trees happen to sway—or how nuanced if flowery the air might be—at some point, if and when I step outside, something entirely else is bound to happen. Heatstroke, sunburn; the reek of burnt rubber; tedious hollow conversation (be it fatty or thin); bearing witness to some terrible accident…a car wreck, perhaps, or the untimely collapse of some hastily constructed building; run-ins with children, unruly mutts, or just some brash nosy bee; whatever—something nasty always happens and ruins everything. No, no: I prefer to look out through my own two windows; to skip through summer in my mind, where everything is under control, more or less, and sensible, and even, eventually, perfect—as it should be.”
You should wobble at least once through a pile of people, friends and strangers under the stars, watching as their made-up faces twist up to the ceiling and turn black, careful not to get too close, careful to remember that the saddest parts are always the best ones, laugh, and shy away, hide in a faraway bathroom w/ yr drink, piss into a broken toilet, look into the mirror—close the mirror and actually look—and see nothing, then check to see what’s behind, sigh like someone will hear you and care, shrug, punch a hole in the wall, drown yr face in it. What’s there?
