Monday, February 14, 2011


Late in the year, New Orleans still has its hot days. In the slave quarters, they blossomed like the giant, stinking carrion-flowers that grow in humid jungles. Their ravaged abdomens swelled and burst like red-black petals, a jubilee of rot. Their putrescent fluids pooled on the concrete floor and in the hollows of their disintegrating bodies.

Poppy Z. Brite, Exquisite Corpse

Image by Luke Kopycinski.


GoneferalinID said...


Samhainn said...

I don't care what anyone says, this is a damn good book. Sick? Yes. Really sick? Yes. One of the sickest? Yes. Is Brite a hell of a writer? Yes! Seriously, this is right up there with American Psycho as one of the sickest books I've ever read, but just like that book, there's no reason sick can't also be great!

Rot said...

Agreed. Huge fan of Brite.

Samhainn said...

Ever read her short story, "Calcutta, Lord of Nerves"? If not, it's a must! And then, if you love it and haven't read Dan Simmons' Song of Kali, check it out. There seems to be a real consensus among horror authors, not to limit Brite or Simmons, that Calcutta is one hell of a place. Nuck nuck.

Rot said...

Absolutely I've read that one.
I always wanted to see that done in a film...where the Dead walk, but the world just puts up with them because they're slow and in third world nations...only eating the poor and the weak. Great concept. Like putting up with slow-moving wild packs of dogs.

Never read any of Simmons.