Spook

Intro by GG

Spook has a bloody history. Most of which, for legal reasons, I can not talk about. The physical book, such as it is (230 sheets of double-sided, double-spaced loose leaf notebook paper bound with AIDS-contaminated dental floss) barely survived its sordid passage to the free world. In the summer of 2020, Spook was hijacked by a violent serial rapist serving a life sentence, and he wanted a thousand dollars for its return.

Since Spook's confirmed penetration of the free world, it has been pawed over like a fetish, gossiped about like an unreported rape, photographed like a freak penis by swarms of incompetent and ineffectual frauds, more than a dozen babbling nitwits including a couple of celebrities, a dweeby professor from the University of Texas, and a semi-illiterate ''underground publisher'' given to astonishing depths of self-pity. All of whom contacted me as admirers, and none of whom did a fucking thing except drain me of time, money, and hope. Not even one of these ''outsiders'' even read the damn book, and I still do not have a typed copy of the manuscript. The America of 2021 is appallingly more infantile and idiotic than the one I left in 2014, and prison has treated me far better than my audience ever did, so I must report, happily, that I am not exactly in a rush to be released in early 2023.

At the heart of Spook, and of the entire Kate quartet, is a man chasing a ghost. Trying relentlessly to put things right, to resurrect the love he wanted, to recreate a single psychological event while enduring a raging flood of long-repressed memory. Places that exist. Places that don't.

Wanna speed things up, and pocket the royalties? I am strictly forbidden to earn money while incarcerated if you're serious, so am I.

Drop me a line.

Justin Gene Gregorits / R87343 / prison / September 2021

© 2021 Rosie-Day Recorders D.B.A. (Hljóðbók): 9781667084268

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Hljóðbók: 19 oktober 2021