Books published by Sad Press

... Women are machines for suffering, that''s whyyour nice sketch hangs flush above a bent backpicking litter. Not so much did you hurt heras: with such force, how many times?

Your Body, Actuallyfor HCThere is only so much content at handand life has become very straightforward.One option unfolds another: touch me and die.Reassuring as a sinkhole, totally.Seasons come on as a sausage restaurant,hopeful, with all its blinding trinketsand inherited imagery. No other replies needed.We are living in a post-sacred age, so it''s official,nothing is sacred. It''s official: leather pyjamas.Go away, thoroughly, where winds have worndeserts to a whistle, rocks shaped to a gesture.How many rugs were pulled from under us?And will we know a burning platform amongall this interference, this life of soft graft.

Nicky Melville''s ABBODIES COLD is a hilarious, heartbreaking, and ferocious record of our times. As neoliberal technocapitalism and fascism negotiate over the finer details of Brexit, pop legends ABBA team up with problematic fave James Bond to try to make sense of it all."Nothing is connected to everything is connected to something. My magical thinking led me to chaos magic which referenced Arthur Koestler''s The Roots of Coincidence. There is no coincidence, only the illusion of coincidence. Perfect. I''d never heard of this book, but knew Koestler was into the paranormal, there''s a parapsychology unit at the University of Edinburgh named after him. I''ve done some volunteering for it. Including a sleep experiment investigating precognition in dreams. It was weird as. Kind of worked. There was a creepy researcher who suggested he come to my flat and do experiments while I slept, if I was interested in more."

Adam Roberts' incomparable versions of Vergil's Ecologues are wise, witty, reeking, rollicking, knurled, greenly flourishing, leaking and shimmering with fusions and fissions. These zephyrs have the guts to zigzag when requisite to give it to us straight. "Nature is always the resource that has always already been worked. The landscape is not 'nature'; it is what cultivation has made of the natural resource. Nature is worked, and therefore Pastoral is always reworked-practically speaking, an eclogue is always a reworking of Hughes as a reworking of Wordsworth as a reworking of Vergil as a reworking of Theocritus (for example). Pastoral is a kind of blockchain, and in a more acute and formally self-reflexive sense than the standard 'intertextuality' argument might suggest, the generalist insistence that all literature is a kind of blockchain. Pastoral is much more specifically so."