"These poems are dark energy vectors pulsating as phantasms through the ultimacy of sorcerous vision These 'transmissions from oblivion' are the rotting fruit of some shadowy realm where the imaginal traverses the actual . . . This degenerate volume weeps blood at the smell of lunar shadows poised to deter the exsanguination of sphinxes -- the elliptical orbit of coarse interstellar viscera. This swarm of shadows orbits a spectral influence confining the actual to the furthest chambers of magnetic pulsars equidistant to cellular levels of vampiric tendrils feasting on alien lavender and hound's blood. Reality is mortally wounded -- punctured by the blackened bones of the imaginal. This is the smell of its flesh." -- Anonymous, HTMLGIANT"Like some undecidable fugue from an all-too-familiar world that should not be, this seductively anti-lyrical sequence of existential horror-verse will quietly pummel you back into a void blacker than that from which you sprang, in other words, restore your wing d senses to the ( )hole beneath our feet." -- M.O.N."This book is dark. The words are dark. The setting is dark. The craft is dark." -- Ben Spivey, author of Black God