:: Article

The Necrology Interview

Gary J. Shipley, Kenji Siratori & Reza Negarestani interviewed by David F. Hoenigman.

necrology

3:AM: Necrology (Paraphilia Books) has been referred to as a “cyberpunk katabasis beyond Burroughs or Guyotat,” but how do you see it?

Gary J. Shipley: Two freshly spliced entities – joint terminals of biocapturism – united in carnal bonds eradicating the binary presuppositions of their former corpse incarcerations, those old emotions reduced to catabolism, human tissue into gas – skin traumas shaped like the beyond of flesh.

Kenji Siratori: Just like the soul of the cadaver that fills the thin placenta of the stratosphere that is split to the human body of anonymity in the earth of before dawn.

Reza Negarestani: An undead machine imbued with the chemistry of putrefaction and nigredo.

3:AM: The use of two-column pages is an effective way of uniting and blending the main bodies of text. Can you say something about how the layout relates to the book’s subject matter?

GJS: In both I see mechanized deformities fused and serialized in medieval warrens – prophylactic dreams shrieking summer’s dazzling geometry all worm-eaten – bouquets of snapped bones growing up chamber walls, nigredo bodies looped malignant, coffined in phases like excrement. I see two corpses tangoing in bonds of blended tissue and fat.

KS: Notified to the counterclockwise brain of the fatalities: blood gets thirsty….the brain of the twin raped mutual soul: the brain of the drug mechanism of the ant that the DIGITAL_placenta of the paradise faints in agony to the milligram tears of the rapture.

RN: If the intelligibility of the world must thus imply a ‘face to face’ coupling of the soul with the body qua dead, then intelligibility is the epiphenomenon of a necrophilic intimacy, a problematic collusion with the rotting double which brings about the possibility of intelligibility within an inert cosmos.

3:AM: Death and decay haunt every page. Would it be fair to call this a horror novel?

GJS: Whoever concocted the world did so under the influence of monsters, incarnations sired from states of self-reflexive revulsion. Reality is horror – it eats people like a carnivorous fog – a construct so diabolical that man has been unwittingly cajoled into adorning the effervescence of his dreams and his fantasies with costumes of malleable terror: ghouls, hybrid creatures, fused entities, seditious organs and limbs, malignant slimes, mythic decapitations, supernatural possession, psychotropic pestilence, brains worm-eaten with paranoia (insanities of truth)… myriad extremities of man’s dull fug.

KS: The horror-show of the hells of the various mode cells of the bodies of myself which her cold machine erodes in sponge form heaven.

RN: Horror stories are inherently concerned with decay even if they deal with other themes and dabble in other affairs.

3:AM: Can you say something about your writing practices?

GJS: I go eavesdropping on the polluted organs of mangy wolfmen, on the toxic urges of a skeleton’s lower brain un-policed, all the while mouthing flat graphomania fertilized by nihil rains of incoherence.

KS: I love/cut the play projects the narcissistic blood of the larva that ocean creature send back out the storage that was turned different violently to the eye of the DIGITAL*rhinoceros of the sun on the mirror of chaos.

RN: A pact with putrefaction must be made; the moment of nucleation with nigredo, as we must call it.

3:AM: What do you see in the black slime that these bodies of text are destined to become?

GJS: Cloistered hollows of dog cadavers, flies drinking, vomiting internal shadows. A vampire’s bitter dreams shadowed by children looking to do in a soul before tea. Sprung carcasses rooted in death and flowering in the despair of inevitable absorption.

KS: The lung of the centipede that turned with the space of the filament of the blackhole and tear so tokage revolves and secretes to body outside so the machine of the drug atom dream of the virus that regresses to the face of the black apocalypse of the sun.

RN: The two necroses of the soul upon which the universe and intellect are fixed bringing about the possibility of ontology as a great chain of corpses whose arrangement is determined by their explicit and implicit indulgence in necrophilia.

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3:AM: What might the reader find if he/she reads down the middle?

GJS: What the mechanics of paradise looks like to something that is not only born to die, but cannot prove to itself that it wasn’t born dead, that all fetuses don’t fall dead from the womb, their faces fat with autolysis, and that all the psychological trappings of adulthood aren’t just the nightmarish symptoms of protracted decomposition.

KS: Like the womb skin of the chameleon there I attached twice and zero=not to inhabit to the nightmare=lung ball. … The wave machine of hell alternates.

RN: By virtue of this distance, openness and survival, the first and the second necroses negatively reinforce and contribute to each other.

3:AM: How would you suggest the reader approach this book? Or is there something to keep in mind as one reads?

GJS: Like some sentient mildew on the dead flesh of life.

KS: With a brain to the impregnation system that velocity of light was transmitted/to the image in the night that the unknown quantity comes flying nonexistent outlook that is the butterfly that was folded up the eyeball that falls****. that lost the focus hangs space in the deep sea of the drug and the sun or the larva of the comedy.

RN: What is itself consumed cannot sufficiently guarantee the exhaustion of that which correlatively succeeds it.

3:AM: The dead, the half-dead and the living all seem to merge into one. How do we tell them apart?

GJS: The dead only speak of death as of a dream; whereas the shared insanity of human kind is always to live death and only dream life, and then only to dream it dead, unyielding, rigor mortised. The alchemy of self-reflexive decomposition: souls cooked black as shadow and smeared on the walls in the shape of men.

KS: I broke make nonexistent I am mad with joy the one that erodes death and at the lightness of the suicide that cadaver invaded a certain membrane there and hell of striking the insincerity without the limit of the naked body.

RN: To stave off the realism of the dead which follows from its coupling with the body, the soul disguises its putrefaction as survival; that is to say, reformulates the problem of decay according to new correlations with its own Ideals and reasons. However, in distracting the dead, the soul is exposed to problems whose concerns belong neither to the living nor to the dead.

ABOUT THE INTERVIEWEES
Gary J. Shipley is the author of Theoretical Animals (BlazeVOX). He has work that has appeared recently, or is forthcoming, in The Black Herald, Gargoyle, le Zaporogue, la Granada, elimae, kill author, and others. He is on the editorial board of the arts journal SCRIPT.

Kenji Siratori is a Japanese avant-garde writer/noise artist. His first novel, Blood Electric (Creation Books), was acclaimed by Dennis Cooper, David Bowie, among others. His other books include Nonexistence, Acidhuman Project, GIMMICK:, Smart-d, Human_Worms, HEADCODE and Hack_.

Reza Negarestani is an Iranian philosopher and author of Cyclonopedia: Complicity with Anonymous Materials. His writings have gained wide recognition and gathered a cult following.

davidhoenigman

ABOUT THE INTERVIEWER
David F. Hoenigman is the author of Burn Your Belongings (Jaded Ibis Press). He was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio, but has lived in Tokyo, Japan since 1998. He’s an assistant professor at Meikai University and the organizer of Tokyo’s bimonthly PAINT YOUR TEETH, a celebration of experimental music, literature and dance. He’s currently working on his second novel Squeal For Joy to be published by Jaded Ibis Press.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Friday, September 30th, 2011.