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Rimbaud said, "I is an other." Not long after that, he was selling GUNS. Contra Rimbaud, I, No Other admits only I. In the hallowed "tradition" of the avant-garde, these stories unseat tradition. You may call them absurd, surreal, irreal, experimental, transgressive, dark, playful, or even just funny... but DON'T call them Other! Ten offbeat Narrations & Exaltations for your delectation: -a flâneur of consciousness exploring his native city, -a not-guilty conscience endlessly revising the crime it can't remember, -the Holy Assumption of a rogue sexbot, -a man and his golem usurping Death, -a…mehr

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Rimbaud said, "I is an other." Not long after that, he was selling GUNS. Contra Rimbaud, I, No Other admits only I. In the hallowed "tradition" of the avant-garde, these stories unseat tradition. You may call them absurd, surreal, irreal, experimental, transgressive, dark, playful, or even just funny... but DON'T call them Other! Ten offbeat Narrations & Exaltations for your delectation: -a flâneur of consciousness exploring his native city, -a not-guilty conscience endlessly revising the crime it can't remember, -the Holy Assumption of a rogue sexbot, -a man and his golem usurping Death, -a timid college girl coming out of her shell to expropriate the Godhead, -and more! I, No Other is a cerebral defibrillator you forgot had been implanted until it routinely-and unexpectedly-shocks you back to life. They may hurt at times, dear reader, the jolts of these agitations, but it is a vital hurt. With a cast of narrators on the brink of discovery in all its forms, I, No Other collects Yarrow Paisley's most exquisite absurdist interludes.
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