I’m very pleased to announce that Delirium Books will be re-releasing my Bram Stoker Award-winning first novel, Grave Markings, in a limited run of collectable leatherbound and hardcover copies in Spring 2004. This is part of their Dark Essential series of “must have” horror books.

I was happy to learn that I have two titles (three if you count an anthology I’m in) listed on the Shocklines Bookstore bestseller lists this week! (My e-book, Sportuary, is also #5 on the Cyberpulp Bestseller List!)

Thanks to all of you reading this who have picked up copies of Gorelets: Unpleasant Poems or who pre-ordered 100 Jolts.

If you’re an amazon.com customer, they now offer the e-book version of Gorelets: Unpleasant Poems. You can also now get Arnzen e-books at Palm Digital Media in addition to Fictionwise.com.

I’m considering burial at sea. And I don’t mean having my ashes scattered in the Hudson like so much pollution. I want to be tossed overboard like an unwelcome stowaway or dropped over a waterfall like, well, like a suicide, only I’d already be dead. What I’m saying is simple: I want to make a splash.

If I’m present in the body at all after death, I think it would be a much better way to go. I’d get to take a vacation of sorts, rather than be locked up in a Houdini box for eternity. I’d get to snorkel without the worries of all that nerdy snorkeling gear. And if I dissolved, well, that’s so much better than decomposition. My body would liquefy and my cells would spread across the world and even evaporate into the air. It’s so much better than land burial, where you sort of just rot in your casing, and — if you’re lucky — ooze through the coffin cracks into the soil, and — if you’re even luckier — eventually climb your way up through the tree roots toward the air. But if you are interred at sea, you might become a foul skin that floats on the water, like a tourist bobbing comfortably on one of those pool lounge chairs.

I mean, aren’t our bodies something like 98% water, anyway? We’re more like Michelob Ultra than the Guinness we think we are.

Oh, okay, I looked it up. It’s more like 60%. So Miller Genuine Draft, then.

But back to my point: Why feed the garden, when our ancestry of oceans and rivers and lakes awaits? Why do we bury the dead like a dog buries its bone? You might think it’s all about the stink, and you’d have a point. But submersion not only covers up the foul odor of death, but also saves you the sweaty armpits of the digging, so it’s twice as nose-friendly. Unless you’re hauling a particularly flabby body overboard. Then you might have sweat and, well, gas, to deal with. But contrary to the belief that fat floats, weight sinks, and water swallows the stink.

Would you bury the dead in mud to honor them? Do you always lock the people you respect most up in a box without any food or deodorant and toss them in a filthy hole? I don’t want to be replaced with a symbolic chunk of stone. Even if you made a statue out of me, you’d be talking about, essentially, a concrete doll, and I’d much rather be an action figure with kung-fu grip. But seriously: if we really wanted to memorialize the dead with statues and stones, why not invent some sort of embalming fluid that actually petrified the corpse, so we could keep it in our living rooms or barbecue pits for posterity? Why don’t we start mummifying ourselves in high tech ways? I’d much rather be dipped in high gloss resin. Of course, the problem then would be my never-changing fashion statement. Unless a family member played dress-up with my cadaver in the same ritual fashion as others renew graveyard flowers. Out of love and respect.

And yet even if my dream of corpse resin never comes true, I’d still rather dissolve than be perpetually frozen in time, trapped behind a veil of plastic, watching the world change around me as seasons come and go, without ever being able to say “I told you so.”

Now, I know there are other options. But cremation just isn’t as creamy as it sounds. And I could donate my body to science, but I wouldn’t be able to write it off on my 1040 the next year, no matter how inevitable death and taxes are supposed to be.

So water it is.* I will dissolve myself of this world. Water is as quick-actin’ as Tinactin. And it prevents dead foot fungus just as well, too.

There’s no easier method to return from the dead, either. Nothing recycles like water. Look in your drink and tell me I’m wrong.

* Disclaimer: Don’t hold me to this, Mr. Lawyer. I’m still waiting for my patent on that body resin idea to come through. And as far as burial goes, well, to be honest, it really all depends upon the real estate, doesn’t it?

Put your hand down on the table. Spread those fingers wide. Now don’t move….

Five Finger Fillet is a remarkably addictive game of virtual Mumbleypeg, brought to you by the defunct site for “13th Street” by Universal Studios.

When you’ve finished filleting your phalanges on one hand, try the alternate version of the game from Makai Media on the other.

And if you want to save on long distance, play it on your cell phone!

+ Invent a “secret department” for one of the department stores you’ve visited at the mall.
+ Write about a character who discovers that his best childhood friend has become a serial killer…and realizes he’s the cause of it.
+ Freewrite the stream-of-consciousness of a witch burning at the stake.

***
Instigation is a WEEKLY department in Hellnotes newsletter

“Instigated” this month by The Goreletter:
Terrie Leigh Relf, “The Creature from the Creamatorium”. Published in Champagne Shivers, Nov 2003.

If you publish something instigated by this department, let me know at arnzen@gorelets.com and I’ll mention it here! Or if you’re bold (and willing to forfeit electronic rights), post your response to a prompt by clicking on the word “comments” below.

Bob Crouch — the man responsible for the wonderful cover art on my first poetry book, Chew — is looking for someone who might be creatively inspired to write something (probably novella-length) based on his outrageously wild “Googly Chess” Set — a series of crazy chess-piece sculptures in the inimitable Crouch style. Check out the copious images on his website at Cricket’s “Rat Fink” Page. Contact Bob personally by e-mail if you’re interested: crouch@tctelco.net

Pitchblende: Songs of Flesh, Bone, Blood — a terrific collection of the most horrific verse by multi-award winning poet Bruce Boston — is being published by Dark Regions Press. I wrote the introduction to this book and essentially edited it, so my review is quite biased. I’m excited about the book, obviously, but everyone should be. Boston is a living legend of genre poetry and this book is a great testament to his dark side.

When editing this collection, I had the unique opportunity to read through many of Boston’s dark poems over the past decade, select the best of them for this book and then arrange the contents. Pitchblende present a “blend” of Boston’s dark material, reflecting the breadth of his talent in the horror genre and his remarkable range. Pitchblende reveals Boston’s abilities, from playing with the horror genre’s overt icons (like the vampiric seduction in “The Prince Comes in Velvet”) to musing expressionistically about death (as in the moody pallor of “In Far Pale Clarity”). In the mix is some surrealist prose poems (“Surreal Domestic”), some formal lyrical verse (“Down in Your Bones Only You Alone Know”), some epic-length projects (“Pavane for a Cyber-Princess”), and some metafiction experiments (“Two Nightstands Attacking a Cello”).

Although I had a hand in compiling this book, Boston’s work stands tall on its own legs and every “song of flesh, bone, and blood” in here hits a perfectly dark pitch. Pitchblende is a great testament to one of the horror genre’s most literate wordsmiths. I’d read these poems again recently and all stand up to multiple re-readings. That’s a sign of genius at work. I admire Boston a great deal and I recommend this book highly. At just $9.95, this trade paperback is something of a steal.

http://hometown.aol.com/bruboston/pitchblende.html

eyes charred as burnt raisins
steaming tongue dangles pink
as the shocked straight rattail
poking out of the puffed grey muff
still statically charged
with murder

I am happy to announce that I’ve contracted with a bold newcomer — Raw Dog Screaming Press — to publish my flash story collection, 100 JOLTS, in trade paperback and ebook this coming Spring. As you might guess, this book actually contains one hundred short-short horror stories. Sound like enough bang for your buck? It’s scheduled for release at World Horror Convention 2004, where RDS will host a party, a signing, and other fun activities. A new interview with Arnzen for The Dream People magazine’s “Extreme Horror” issue includes sample stories from the book!

Just when you thought the horrorshow of the world series and early football season was over… now comes SPORTUARY by Michael A. Arnzen. Available exclusively in e-book form, this 42 page electronic chapbook by a Bram Stoker Award-winning author reimagines sporting events in all sorts of twisted ways. You’ll get everything from kids playing badminton with dead birdies to “fearleaders” with bony pompoms. Now available for immediate download from CyberPulp Digital Publishing. (Sample poems available at gorelets.com). Priced at just $3, this collection of bizarre imaginings is cheaper than a scary stadium hot dog. GET IT HERE.

“It is easy to see why many of Arnzen’s readers consider him a master of the macabre. “Sportuary” is the culmination of what could happen if sport and the win at all costs attitude it breeds were to go unchecked, and the dark side were to take over. Plus, it is one hell of a fun read.” — Gary West, Dream People magazine

Just found out that my short story collection, 100 JOLTS: Shockingly Short Stories is already available for advanced pre-orders at Shocklines Online Bookstore for just $12.95. And as always, Shocklines is offering a sweet deal! Pre-order from Shocklines to get a SIGNED copy as soon as they arrive!

Also available now from Shocklines: GORELETS: Unpleasant Poems for just $7.99.