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The Wolf House: Punk is dead and it has fangs» Blog Archive » I never met a blog I couldn’t spam

I never met a blog I couldn’t spam

The boy with the thorn in his side

The boy with the thorn in his side

Because I haven’t made this especially clear anywhere else on the site, I should mention: Origins and Overtures, the first book, isn’t available yet, it’s still that utterly vexing thing known as “coming soon”. This is the reason that I haven’t got ‘buy it! buy it now! Buy itttt!!!’ buttons all over the place.

Which makes this site all sorts of redundant for the time being, alas.

For now, I’ll talk about another book that influenced me, this one while I was writing Roads and Crosses (book 2) — The Boy With The Thorn In His Side by Pete Wentz and Joe Tesauro, which is a borderline-incoherent, self-indulgent, frightening fairytale picture book about love, medication and loneliness. Here’s an excerpt from it:

The Boy had been bursting to share this world with someone and he was finally getting his chance.

“He-ll-o” he stuttered. His voice was hoarse from not being used. It felt rusty. Suddenly the darkness consumed everything. The fireworks stopped.

Desperate, The Boy ran down the stairs waking the wolves in the wall on the way. He ran 40 or 50 feet until he hit the shadows of two people. He could barely make them out. One of them lit a match glowing and revealing two pale faces. The stars crossed and The Boy wished he could have hung himself on them. He stuttered again, tripping on his tongue. This caused the girls to giggle more.

“What’s your name?” The Boy asked.

The girl with the darker hair replied “Rattail” and lifted her arm jiggling a dead rat she had tied on her wrist like some morbid form of jewelry: the rodent gold standard, the retching and unraveling of style (have you ever seen someone and known that they owned you before they even spoke). It would almost be seductive if it wasn’t so dreadful. The girl was pale with jet black hair. Strange. But The Boy was in love.

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