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Noam Hessler loves words. This is the most generic thing one can say about a poet, even the definition of a poet, but once you get to the second poem in Officeparks, their debut book, and see/hear/read “fattoothed,” “Uppwards,” “Darkawful,” “Fatwet,” it is delightfully apparent that Noam Hessler loves words, especially aspirated consonants.
Within the foyer of the Concrete Mansion were four doors, a mezzanine, and a distant chandelier. The walls, floor, and ceiling were bare concrete. The floor was scraped and worn, the walls darkened by water stains. The mezzanine, also concrete, ran a square frame around the foyer.
Thirteen gothic tales about the direct encounter with death, in its physical, psychical, cultural, and ontological dimensions.
Nine visions of death, revelation, and the longing for transcendence—bathed in nocturnal light.
A Faustian tale of roommate trouble and atavistic hauntings.
Fourteen meditations on faith, filial duty, and physicality, filigreed with haunting, fractured sensuality.
Dub threnodies in devotion to the headless king. Hymns to a new sovereignty—of rot and decay.
A city, a signal, no static, all screens, all walls. All weeks, all months, all years.
A collection of six manga originally published between 1988 and 1992, by the unrivaled master of the erotic grotesque in Japanese art and comics.
Sixteen brutal, concise short comics from the master of Eroguro.
A voyage through four incidents of predation. The mysterious, the hunted, the inhuman, the trapped.