Product Description

"True Stories from a Wasteland called Earth" Eight all new tasty tidbits from Author Aaron Carnes with his unique brand of fiction, 'cartoon nihilism.' Explore the strange, the mundane, the bizarre, the uncomfortably intimate, the oddly familiar, the surreal with his eight new short stories. Featuring "Suicide its a killer." A man destroys everything he owns after a talking patch of grass grants him his one wish of a more meaningful life. "Rotten Sperm." A motivational speaker addresses a school auditorium with tales of confronting his old church youth group leader, fighting drunken cowboys, and sticking his finger up his butt in the shower. "Social Anorexxxia." A cashier, high on an illegal substance, gloop, witnesses a murder in his liquor store, in between humiliating hallucinations and private conversations with God.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #723230 in Books
• Published on: 2008-08-04
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 176 pages

Customer Reviews

Note from the Author
I am the author of "True Stories from a Wasteland called Earth." I'd like to add a few words, if I may. You and I are dealing with the internet. And that means the currency we transact in is short descriptions, crazy premises, and tags. Lots of tags. I could tell you that if you like xyz, then surely you'll like my book. This you are used to. But really the premise, the genre, the keywords are pointless. What matters is how it's executed. Doesn't matter if we're talking about film, books, TV, music. As the old Stones song goes, "It's the singer not the song." There's a world of difference between say The Sopranos & Analyze This. Yet, they both contain the same root idea. I could describe them to you in the same single sentence. "A modern day mob boss has to go to therapy to deal with his anxiety attacks." So, in this world we find ourselves in, the more unique an idea I convey, the better an advantage I have over you. Say if I told you I wrote a book about a giant flesh eating crouton that defecates zombies, you might say, "Sounds scary! Sign me up." Then we'd have a fifty/fifty chance to seal the deal, and if I was lucky, in 6-10 months you might get around to actually reading my book and reviewing it here on amazon. I would be at a disadvantage if, on the other hand if I said to you, "These are interesting stories that are both surreal and personal. It's kinda hard to say what they're about, you gotta just check `em out, I guess." You'd be gone in two seconds. You've got a busy life. You don't have time to read every two-bit book written by every hack writer. I understand this, yet how are you to know what is actually a unique work of fiction? Do you even want a unique story? Who knows.

Back to me. I don't normally like to reveal so much information, but I think it might be relevant. These short stories. Eight in all. 176 pages. It took me five years to write them. I'd rather you didn't know this cause if I did interest you enough to buy the book, and you managed to find the time to sit down and read it, and you weren't impressed...I could say, "This thing? Oh I wrote that while I was backpacking in Egypt trying to find my inner self. I don't even know what I was talking about." Then you'd say, "Well if you weren't trying then I guess it wasn't bad." You can see the conundrum. There were 13 stories originally. I cut 4, and set aside 1 which was a bit long. (it will soon be flushed out and converted into a novel, like a cow ran through the conveyor belt churning out beef patties.) Allow me to further embarrass myself by saying that in these five years, quite a bit of time went into this book. We're not talking about five years of `a couple hours a week in my spare time.' No, long stressful hours. Work work work work work work work.

I did all the artwork and the layout as well. One guy told me that my drawings reminded him of Ralph Steadman, if he were in the fifth grade. I'm not sure if that was intended as a compliment or an insult. Anyways, I think it's appropriate. I compare my writing to Daniel Johnston. Not in terms of content, but in roughness, uncomfortable honesty, and alienation. You listen to Daniel make music and you can tell he needs to make music. You read William Burroughs and you can tell that he needs to string words together. Every time I turn on the TV or watch behind the scenes footage of a movie, what's the first thing everyone says? How much fun they have making their stupid art. How much joy they get. How they do it for the love and not for the money. And this we're supposed to admire? We're supposed to find them noble? If some punk kid travels around the world playing half-baked songs, making tons of money, being worshiped by millions and he enjoys it. Why wouldn't he enjoy it? He has a good life. It beats working a real job. Me, I fall into the other category. I'm not bragging. I'm just telling you. I don't enjoy writing. It drives me nuts. I need to do it. I need it to feel sane. It's a process getting there. I might feel depressed, anxious, or whatever while I'm writing...but occasionally when I get into a zone, or when I finish a story I feel a few seconds of peace. And then it's back to the trenches.

I don't know what else I can tell you. You can visit my website at www.aaroncarnes.com. Feel free to email me at littleplasticmen@yahoo.com. I love to communicate with people and hide in my apartment all at once. Too-da-loo!

"Welcome to my toilet! Feel free to look around!"



So says the crudely drawn boy/girl on the first pages of this this strange new book, "True Stories form a Wasteland Called Earth," by writer Aaron Carnes. The boy/girl, whom I assume is our temporary guide or ringleader through the ensuing pages, is wearing a `Sore Loser' T shirt, and is accompanied by other odd characters: An upside down man staring at some body parts, a man shoving a knife in his ear whilst daydreaming of other body parts, another man shooting a gun in his head while thinking of even more body parts, and last but certainly not least, a man whose head is impaled upon a gigantic, um......body part(whilst his own...body part... is shriveled and scared.). This is how Mr. Carnes chooses to introduce you to his work. Not only is the subject matter immediately off putting and perhaps uncomfortable to some, but the fact that it all looks like it was drawn by an eight year old adds to the knot forming in your stomach. But of course, you cant resist turning the pages to see what other demented illuminations may hide inside. The titles alone are worthy of mention: "Puke", "Rotten Sperm", "Rub yer Stink on Me", and the oh so cryptic, "Napalm Buddy this Man!". Beside each new story is a photo of the writer, perhaps as an embodiment of the story's narrator, perhaps for no reason at all, who knows. Below each chapter's photo is a quote fron the proceeding story. "Soundtrack to a Nervous Existence" has a photo of the author smirking in a santa hat. "Maybe I should talk my Dad into a decapitation," the quote below the photo says, "At least he'd speak to me." The photo beside "Killing Time on Planet Earth" shows a fuzzy, grainy double exposed freakishly happy face. Below, it reads, "Life's a piece of [excrement]. But I'm happy to be a part of the whole thing." Could be enlightenment, could be resignation. The stories themselves are just as dark and enigmatic as the drawings and photos. Desperate characters fill the pages, full of sexual angst, religious alienation, and a deep dark lonliness at the center of it all. The voice throughout the whole book is one of raw hurt and maybe even hatred, but the narration is undoubtedly original and sometimes so unexpectedly funny in its gross twisted images, you will find yourself laughing in spite of yourself. Mr. Carnes himself has dubbed his writing, "cartoon nihlisim," and I find this to be a pretty good description. It's absurd, dark, speculative, uncomfortable, but again, you know...with a dollop of queasy giddiness, like morning sickness. On the last page, our "Sore Loser", the ringleader of this gooey mess, exclaims, "Thanks for stopping by! And don't forget to flush!"

I'm in a little over my head, but that is okay.
At this point my copy of this book is looking a little beat up, so I guess that is a good sign.
I want to say that the prose here reminds my of certain beat authors, but I am not learned enough to tell you who they are. Carnes' writing style seems to follow his train of thought wherever it leads him, and usually I was happy to jump right in and go along for the ride, but there were times I lost track of the main narrative (the second story, "Suicide, Its A Killer" for one). Unlike many other things I've read, I always remained engaged in what I was reading and encouraged to go back and figure out how everything fits in to the larger story.
This is a book that encourages multiple reads, and that is probably the best compliment I could give any book.