CZM Book Club: Locust House, by Adam Gnade (Part Four of Four)

Margaret finishes up reading you a story about punks, growing up, and refusing to lose your edge

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Cool Zone Media. Hello and welcome to another episode of
the Cool Zone Media book Club, the only podcast where
you don't have to do the reading because I do
it for you. And today we are finishing our breezy,
beachy summer read that's not actually very breezy, and it's

(00:25):
only beachy in the fact that it's about San Diego.
But it's a cool book and I really like it,
and I hope you do too. You probably like it,
all right, You're on episode four out of four. You've
made it to the end. We're reading Locust House by
Adam Gannatti. It's a novella that was published in twenty

(00:47):
sixteen by Pioneer Press and you can buy a copy
for your aging punk friend from Bread and Roses Distro.
Last week we found our main characters, James and Francis,
partners who are young, drunk and full of punk, and
they're at the last show at Locust House before everyone
gets evicted. You've also got this character, a guy named

(01:08):
Tyler who's a straight laced med student from nine to
five Monday through Friday, but into hardcore the rest of
the time. And there's also this asshole named Ted. We
don't really know too much about besides that, he's drunk
and annoying. And there's Agnes, who just got back from
her uncle's funeral, who is the closest she ever had
to a parent, with a side quest to visit her
dickbag of a boyfriend. And there's the whole San Diego

(01:30):
punk scene writhing with angst and potential energy. And there's
the cops who are about to bust up this party,
and Agnes is probably pregnant, so let's finish it up.
James is well, I'm narrating, but James is the character
that's narrating. It's complicated. I believe in you. And also
here's a fun fact. I don't remember what voices I

(01:51):
did last time, so they might be the same and
they might be different. Locust House by Adam Gannatti, Part four.
I lost Frankie and Tyler in the crowd and ended
up alone in the house. I remember walking through the
various rooms and it was like they were circus funhouse rooms,
each its own realm. The rooms were packed so tight

(02:13):
you'd have to climb over people just to get to
see the bands. Ratty punk kids with bullet belts and
patched up black denim, older scene, kids in perfect Levi's
jackets and tight jeans and high soul creepers. A famous
artist from La very tall, vampiric and all black and
sunglasses in the corner talking to a couple of girls

(02:33):
and trying to play at low key. Lots of cool
Mexican goths with greased up hair, Cleopatra eyeliner and a
million tattoos. Lots of people were drunk, lots of people
making out. Upstairs. There were so many kids in the
main room and the bands played that the floor felt soft,
like it was going to give way at any second.

(02:54):
The halls were just as crowded, people shoving to get through,
kids writing on walls, broke glass everywhere. I remember Cedric
and Omar from at the Drive In playing some kind
of deep, heavy, weird improvisational dub under the name De
Facto on the first floor. The room was very dark
and people were jammed in like cigarettes in a pack,

(03:16):
pressed up against each other, too close to move. Moving
units played downstairs too. It was dance music as punk
and punk as dance music in the most spectacular way,
the scuzziest of new wave, the catchiest too. You could
tell they wanted to be there, wanted to be doing
exactly what they were doing, and that was a fine

(03:37):
thing to see. The Blood Brothers set was manic and shaky.
They were doing a lot of songs off March on
Electric Children, and they the songs, I mean, were as
frantic as they were heavy. It was so loud. Not
all of it made sense, but that was beside the point.
It felt right and anyway, disorder and correctness are not
mutually exclusive. Like a lot of people will say, Francis

(04:04):
seeing the Locust play was always pretty fucking amazing. Of
all the bands in our scene, their lyrics were the
most political. They were anti cop anti authoritarian. I don't
think a lot of people got that at the time
because most of the bands in our scene weren't very political.
In contrast to other scenes happening at the time, San
Diego Kids were more about pushing the boundaries of art

(04:27):
and music and fashion, and that was good too. Something
I've learned these past few years is you need to
have art with your activism, and activism with your art.
It's essential. If you don't find a little pleasure to
offset the strain of fighting for a better world, you
burn out. These days. Most of my friends are either

(04:47):
radicals or journalists who cover activists stories. They're believers, their
staunch and they get up every morning without much sleep,
and they do battle. But they're strained and they're overwhelmed,
almost across the board. You see it in their eyes.
They're hurt, they're tired. I try to tell them we

(05:07):
need to be more like people our age from Paris
in the nineteen twenties, you know, active, informed, but still
down to party, still into art for enjoyment's sake. Sometimes
they take my advice for a minute, but it never sticks.
I don't even take my advice most of the time.
I know it would be healthy for me to slow
down for a second and get drunk and go dancing,

(05:29):
or just chill the fuck out and read a novel
or something. But in the end, the pull of my
work makes recreation feel self indulgent. I know how that sounds,
I do, but yeah, I don't like feeling frivolous, or
that I'm wasting my time on things without meaning. Looking back,
I feel like that party was a thousand years in

(05:51):
the past. The me that was there is the me
that's here now. But it's not been easy I've been
trying as hard as I can, but some days I
feel like a sinking ship. It's been a rough couple years, James.
After the band's played, I wandered back to the front

(06:12):
of the house, excited and in love with the world,
in love with everyone I saw, and all the possibilities
of being alive and willing to take risks, try bold things.
As I walked through the house alone, I looked at
everyone and I loved them all. Who were they? All
those kids, drunk, sober, laughing, bickering, smoking, hooking up, arguing.

(06:36):
I wanted to be everyone's friend all at once, to
take each one aside and say, look, here we are.
We're together for this one great thing. Why don't we
all know each other? Who are we in this place?
And most of us strangers? I'm a nice person. Life
is lonely. Let's be friends. My eyes were filled with tears.

(07:00):
I was happy and drunk, and I wanted so much.
Outside the house, kids were getting violent. Someone had pushed
a couch off the second story balcony, and somebody else
tossed a handful of firecrackers into the yard, and a
few people got hurt. I walked down the porch steps
to see Frankie holding a white T shirt to our

(07:20):
sweet neighbor Jessica Colvin's face. She Jessica, was sitting up
against the white picket fence and blood was soaking through
the shirt. By then, the cops had begun to arrive
and they were out front questioning Omar and Cedric from
de Facto next to their van. And that seemed like
the funniest thing in the world. I stood on the
porch and snapped a picture with my disposable Kodak box camera.

(07:42):
It felt like an important moment, was it. Who knows
what's important and what's not. At the time, I thought
to myself, things are happening right now, and we're alive,
and the world is funny and okay, and we can
do whatever we want. The world that's happening now is
a world we can change and control. We can make
this world whatever we want it to be. We can

(08:05):
rebuild the world in our image if we work together,
and we can crush the very foundations of the old order.
It's a good feeling to have that kind of confidence
and optimism at least once in your life. I've had
it since, but never that idyllic. Never that sure, But
do you know what else will give you an unfiltered

(08:26):
and whole feeling. That's right, it's the products and services
that support this podcast, with the exception of sports gameplay.
Don't do that and reback, Tyler. Fuck the police forever, Francis.

(08:56):
What was it? Eight ten squad cars? So many for
just a house party. It was asinine. We were having
so much fun, dancing to the bands, going crazy in
the pit, drinking wine and everyone laughing, meeting new people,
talking to strangers, cheering after each song like we were
at a gladiator arena. As soon as the cops got there,

(09:17):
it was like a bucket of ice water thrown in
our faces. James, even those hundreds of billions of cops
didn't bring me down. Maybe I was too drunk, but
I didn't feel all bloozy until the walk home, Francis.
The thing about James is he is always very hard
to find after a party, Tyler. San Diego cops are

(09:40):
the ugliest cops you'll ever see, which is funny because
there's a city with a lot of attractive people. San
Diego cops looked like giant, dickish war hoogs of mirrored
sunglasses and mustaches. People call cops pigs, but San Diego
cops really do look like pigs. I used to have
fantasies of just going out and killing a bunch of cops,

(10:02):
killing off the entire San Diego police force as a
service to humanity. I mean, of course i'd never do it,
but if I did, I don't think i'd ever feel bad. James,
I might have puked on someone's mailbox. Half on purpose, no,
totally on purpose. It was so gross funny though, Francis.

(10:28):
After I found James and Tyler, we stood on the
sidewalk and James and I tried to talk Tyler into
not driving home. We told him he always had a
place on our couch, and he told us he knew
that it was something he knew he could always count on.
But he left anyway. James hugged Tyler, I hugged Tyler,
and he left. I was kind of mad, to be honest, Tyler.

(10:52):
Frankie called out to me as I was walking down
the sidewalk, and she was like, Tyler, you're totally going
home to study, aren't you admit it? I turned around
and shrugged and played it off. She was right, I
had a test on Monday. James Tyler would always go
home after parties or shows and study the hardest fucking subjects.

(11:13):
No one else in the world understands Tyler. Sometimes I
would go home after a party and I'd be out
of my head on speed or ecstasy, usually dropping Joey
Carr off first, who would be just as destroyed, and
I'd go do my homework and listen to Boussy Debussy
in organic chemistry and cocaine. It was some surreal shit.

(11:34):
The raven was right never more, James. I remember driving
around with Tyler and Joey Carr and both of them
were doing lines at every stoplight like a couple of idiots,
and Tyler had Wagner or some dumb bombastic crap blasting
out of his speakers. It was horrible. I hated that shit.
Those two were on a whole different wavelength Tyler. After

(11:59):
I said good by to James and Frankie, I walked
to my car and saw two people having sacks in
the back seat of a jeep. You could see the
souls of the girl's sneakers pressed up against the glass
and the back of the guy lurching against her. The
jeep was rocking side to side. Someone else walking down
the sidewalk. There were a lot of us said Yo,

(12:19):
get a room of fuckers, and everyone laughed. Driving home,
I was so high the lights of the Sea World
Tower were blurring, like a three hundred foot tall flashlight
on the skyline. Remember watching it move and thinking it's
gonna fall. It's gonna fall, and crushed poor Shamoo. Mint
didn't James. I was very drunk. When Frankie and I

(12:43):
walked home. She had her arm around me and held
me up and we didn't say much. There was a
gravity to the silence. We were both mixed up inside,
and it would be days before we talked about it.
Francis years later, thinking back on it, the hardest thing
for me was watching everyone leave. For a few hours,

(13:03):
it felt like we were all in this thing together
and there was some kind of greater commonality between us.
But we left. We left in pairs, were alone. We
left drunk, high, sober, happy, sad, afraid, laughing, But we
left while the cops were inside breaking up the party,
and Tyler was who knows where, and James was up

(13:25):
the block. I remember standing on the porch alone with
everyone coming out of the house behind me, just filing
right out of the place as they were told to
Where were they going. They were going home to parties,
to tj to sleep it off, to eat, to fuck
each other, to get more beer. I saw a very
drunk ted Boon staggering down E Street toward twenty fourth,

(13:49):
walking in the street light, all yellow gold around him,
then into the shadows below the trees. At some point
he put his hands on the trunk of a tree
and vomited for a very long time. After that, he
walked on and at the end of the block. By
then he was barely there in the fog. I saw
him open the passenger side back seat door of his

(14:10):
car and climb in. It was the last time I
saw him. I watched a couple teenage boys walk past,
holding hands, rubbing up against each other, pulling at each
other's clothes, talking quietly. I'd seen them hook up earlier,
and now they were headed off to make out or
have sex. They were very much in love, or at

(14:32):
least lust, and you could tell how much they wanted
each other. It was sweet. I was envious. Coming out
of the house, there were groups of drunken girls and
fucked up eighties cocaine, business women attire or stupidly tight
low rise jeans and torn up shirts. Younger girls, older ones,

(14:53):
but whoever, they were together a pack, a gang. They
walked past me, groups of them talking and laughing, and
then they filed down the street to smoke on the sidewalker,
piled into cars, or kept walking until the fox swallowed
them up. Guys from the bands who played earlier walked past,
holding guitar cases or carrying amps. A young girl the

(15:15):
Chelsea haircut, thick blonde bangs, a long strand down each
cheek like sideburns shaved in the back, walked down the
steps with a huge watermelon in her arms. I heard
people talk as they walked past me. Let's go get
fucking burritos, Go go as sick. Huh dude, Fuck those
whack ass East County kids in a pit at Reagan Youth.

(15:39):
What time do you think Lapasta closes? Did you really
hook up with Susan Newell? You, sir, are a god.
I am way too stoned for this many cops. Jeff
and Shanna totally made out in the alley. Finally, right,
I have school tomorrow. I'm so hungry. I want to cry,

(16:02):
my feet hurt. I hope we don't get a ticket.
Taylor's band is hell a lame, but I'd totally bone him.
I have to call my mom. Where did we even park?
I'm as sleepy as a little baby frog. My bike
better still be there or I'll kill the world. We

(16:23):
should get pizza. How much is a taxi? Watching them
all leave was a heavy thing to see. It was
an army retreating, leaving the front and going back to
the world, already concerned with the next thing. Where are
they now these days? I don't see anyone from that time,

(16:44):
not even James unless he visits a lot of them.
Most of them, I think, were sucked into the great
pneumatic tube that takes you from your hopeful, idealistic youth
into the dull drags of adulthood. They go mainstream. They
have mainstream jobs, mainstream sex, mainstream relationships, mainstream families, mainstream tastes,

(17:05):
which isn't bad, but it's not what I wanted back then,
and it's not what I want now. So they disappear.
They drop out into a bland, safe, lifeless normalcy, or
they don't make it. Kids die, or they burn out.
They stay in the scene, but they stagnate and age
badly and never make good on the promises of their youth.

(17:28):
They waste the wonderful things inside them, or they kill themselves,
or do I have a fucking overdose like poor Marlon
Garfield on the floor of a Burger king bathroom. When
I do see someone from the past, someone has let
go of what they were. They look old. They look
tired and swollen and bloated, like a blurry yearbook photo

(17:49):
of themselves. All those fresh faces and confidence, all those
dreams they failed or stalled or changed. The ones that
didn't change, the ones that stuck it out have had
it harder. They still have their ideals. They've kept touring
and making records or writing books or going to shows.

(18:12):
But life isn't easy on those who resist letting it
bend them. A lot of them are doing even better
than back then. Those are the ones who look like warriors,
wounded but still standing. Those who still burn inside like
a nuclear goddamn blast, and live for their dreams and
feel it on a daily fucking basis. They may not

(18:33):
look as fresh faced, but they look strong. They look
savage and beautiful and pure and they shine with a
different kind of light. I still want to see a
better world, and I want to have that kind of
community I thought I had in those days, But at
least lately life has shown me a lonelier road. I
hope it's not like this forever, because for now my

(18:56):
ideals are just as strong, but my hope is fading.
Did I make the right choice? Am I making enough
of a difference to warrant the strain I've placed on myself?
Would my life have been better had I stuck it
out in San Diego, found another job after the magazine
went down, rolled with the punches, changed as life wanted

(19:17):
me to change. Who would I be? What would I be?
Fall is here and to day I'm taking the bus
to pick my boys up from pre school. As soon
as there is sleep to night, I'll get back to work.
Right now, I'm researching local factory farms with water pollution
violations as possible sights for my partner's drone investigations. Doesn't pay,

(19:40):
but it's the right thing to do, and I'll work
on it until morning, setting everything else aside for it.
Sometimes it's like dropping stones into a deep well where
you don't get the satisfaction of hearing them hit the water.
Other days it's better, but I would be lying if
I said it hasn't been the former more than the
ladder for a while. Now it can be thankless and frustrating.

(20:05):
Still I work, I fight, I believe. Like yesterday and
the day before, I'll sit and type at my laptop
by the window while the boys sleep in their room
in this big rented house that's not mine, in this
city where I know no one, And when the dawn comes,
I'll stop, make more coffee and start the day. But

(20:28):
dear listener, much like a pot of coffee, here's an
abrupt and artificial ad transition to jolt you back a week,
just as you were falling asleep. And we're back, James.

(20:54):
Things have changed so much for me since then. Only
thing is I hardly ever see Frankie and Tyler anymore.
Sometimes on holidays, birthdays if one of us is passing
through the other city. I never thought life would turn
out like this, which is not to say I'm upset.
I miss them every day. I miss them, but I
like how I'm living. The life I have isn't easy.

(21:17):
Money is always a problem, and like the old song
goes the Future's got me worried such awful thoughts. But
I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing, and
that makes me feel pretty okay. I mean not okay
in the fair at a midlan sense, but okay is
in secure and happy and excited about what I have going.
I'm in love. It's new love, the kind of love

(21:39):
that can make you feel like you're truly in the
right place. And I'm doing exactly what I hoped I
would be doing back in the days of the party.
It's happening, not exactly as I hoped it would happen,
because the world is a different place, but it's happening nonetheless.
Still there are things I miss. I miss the feeling
of being in a room where everyone is losing their
shit to a band that sounds like nothing else. When

(22:01):
I remember most from that night was the upstairs room
and how good the music felt. It was so loud
you could barely hear it, but you could feel it.
You felt it in the center of your stomach and
in your muscles and deep inside your chest. The pit
was far too big for such a small room, so
many people in that tiny space throwing themselves left and

(22:22):
right in the middle of it all, this pale, brown
haired girl caught up in the crowd, push eyes closed,
blood smeared around her mouth and down her neck, screaming
and punching and kicking like her life depended on it.
You knew there was something deeper going on, There was
an important thing at the center of it all. She

(22:43):
had some kind of horror in her, and she was
there to force it out. She was there to heal,
but in a powerful and scary and violent kind of way.
I'll never forget the way she moved through the room,
and how the room bent out of her way and
moved around her. Epilogue, Agnes as bodies knocked against hers,

(23:05):
and people fell down and were pulled back up again,
as she was soaked in the sweat of everyone else
and they in hers. Agnes shut her eyes and let
the music hid her, like holding your arm out a
car window to feel the air push back. She thought
of the wind and her face on the roller coaster,
and she thought of the time she rode on the
back of Stephen's motorcycle. He took her up into the

(23:27):
hills above Old Town to see the Spanish Mission, and
she held on to him, and felt the air as
a physical thing, an angry force, a strong hand, and
a door slammed, a magnet's pull, or a jet taking off,
or the churning swell of the sea. Agnes was thrown
to the side and held back up, shoved forward and

(23:47):
stopped by the damp wall of a body. Blind, she
felt the music and the people around her as she
was knocked this way in that, grabbed by the waist,
elbowed in the lip, blood, she thought, as a wave
of pain throbbed from her teeth to the back of
her neck. She could taste blood. Then another elbow caught
her in the stomach, the wind knocked out of her.

(24:09):
She punched back, sightless and it didn't connect, and fell
forward and was pulled into a standing position again. And
her eyes opened, and she saw the dim lights of
the room and the people moving around her, and the band,
vicious but elegant. She raised her face to the ceiling
and spit out blood and saw it break into a

(24:30):
spray of droplets in the yellow light. Agnes shut her
eyes again and was thrown to one side, then the other,
and the world broke in on itself like a clap,
like two hands coming together, and she spun wild circles, kicking, punching, laughing,
laughing as she cried for Michael to bear loyal and

(24:51):
true and dignified, and for Stephen, weak and mean in
his uncle's store, and for Big Marcos, who didn't know
what time the weddings were, and for her parents and
everyone's parents, and for everyone everywhere. The crowd pushed, Agnes
pushed back the end. That's the end of Locust House

(25:15):
by Adam Gannatti, and Hazel, who helps him with the script,
says this about it. I really love this ending. I
think Adam does a fabulous job pulling all the threads
back together that he's been so carefully weaving. And the
way that he describes being a young punk feeling like
you're on the brink of something is so vivid and real.

(25:35):
The prose shines just like Adam's characters, savage and beautiful
and pure. I'll be honest. When Margaret first sent me
this book, I was pretty put off by the violence
in the first part of the book, even as someone
who enjoys a really good and gross story. But I'm
glad I held on that last image of Agnes pouring
out all her fury and hurt into the pit. She

(25:57):
was there to heal, but in a scary and powerful
and violent of way. Is such a resinous line. What
Agnes goes through is a relatable kind of violence to
so many of us, unfortunately. And I love how Adam
ends this book that is in so many ways about
growing up and moving on with this character who refuses
to lose her edge. She's on the precipice of adulthood,

(26:19):
she's just lost her father figure, considering parenting herself, and
here instead we get this moment of rebirth of ferocity
and wildness. It's incredible, well done, Adam. What do I
have to say? Well, I'm Tierri, but you all are
used to that because a lot of books make me cry,
especially when I read them out loud for some reason.

(26:41):
But yeah, the two things that really drew me to
the book. I also like, Hazel, like, thanks you all
for trusting us to make it through part one, right,
Like I tend not to write sexual violence in my
own writing, but it's something that I have experienced, and
that so many people I know, the fucking almost every

(27:02):
woman I know and a lot of the men I know,
have experienced. You know, and I think that Adam makes
it worth it narratively because of that experience. That's saying like, yeah,
I had an everyday horror happened to me, this thing
that will like change me and sit with me the
rest of my life and fuck with all my relationships forever. Right,

(27:25):
But it's so every day, like every day like one
word as an adjective, you know. And yet the Catharsis
is too right, because this is a book about everyday magic.
This is describing a single punk show, a house show
that like, bad stuff happens, that people get hurt, the
couch just pushed off the thing, there's fireworks whatever, right,

(27:48):
And it's this like everyday magic. I think all the
time about well, the world that lives right underneath this
world that we all experience and we all pretend we
don't experience. And ecstatic dancing part of that. I grew
up mashing, right. I grew up going to punk shows
a lot like this one. And we say I grew
up Actually I didn't as a young teen. But when

(28:08):
I became an anarchist and started going to like basement
punk shows, that's where I found this. I didn't find
this at like radio punk shows other people did. That's great,
that's fine, good for you. I found this here. I
found this in this scene three thousand miles away but
the same year, you know, And it's ecstatic dancing. Like

(28:29):
sometimes you just need to be part of the world
and lose yourself to it. And that's violent, right, But
I still like a washing thing where you don't kick
or punch, where it's more like shoving and people fall
and stuff like that personally, but like that's the kind
of thing that we shouldn't lose and that I think

(28:50):
every culture has some version of ecstatic dancing, and whenever
we try to strip it out of our lives, we
find ways to put it back. You know. There's so
much more I have to say about it. I love
the way that Adam talks about when Francis is like,
I'm an activist now and the people who are still
doing it are beautiful and ragged. Yeah, I don't know,

(29:14):
that's how I feel. So like this is a book
for me. I hope you all enjoyed it too, But
I like, I read this book and one sitting one night,
you know, and the two main images I left with
were the two images from this part being like well,
I guess I'm musa stay up all night finding ways
to fuck factory farms. And also just like Agnes, the

(29:37):
crowd pushed, Agnes pushed back. Adam, the author of the book,
we asked him what he had to say about this book,
and he told us quote, it came out of a
very painful part of life, the worst year of my life,
and it happened fast and was over fast. The most
I remember is Justin Pearson, who runs three one g

(29:57):
as Jesse, my publisher now through Bretton Rose's pre Us,
also my longtime best friend. If their two companies could
release something together, it was decided I would do a book,
and I wrote it in a week, and I don't
remember anything about the process. I've read it once since then,
and that was years ago. I will say I've been
very involved in making its audio prequel and sequel. All

(30:18):
the books and recordings are connected, but these even more so.
Locust House is the first in a set of three
books about Agnes mccanty. The prequel to Locust House is
called Life is the Meat Grinder that Sucks in All Things,
and the sequel is called Voicemails from the Great Satan.
You can find audio of both stories on band camp
and also Adam said quote there's also a two hundred

(30:41):
page chapter about her I wrote in a very long,
ongoing book that I've always been working on and will
be called Panorama, but don't release until I'm dead book.
So yeah, that's Locust House. Thanks for coming with us
on our beach reads. But don't worry, We're soon I
have to do more beach trees because we all know.
Soon there's only going to be two seasons. There's going

(31:02):
to be Summer, which will last from about August September
till May, and then Hellmouth, which will be what it
used to be called summer, so much time we get
spent on the beach. Marder Kildoy strikes again. Okay, Adam Gannatti,
here's a bio. Adam Gannatti's writing is released as a
connected series of books and audio recordings of writing with

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musical accompaniment, self described as talking songs aimed at creating
a personal history of life as I knew it when
I lived. Gannatti's work is published and issued by Brett
and Roses Press three to one g Hello America Stereo
Cassette and the Numero Group. Ganatti intends his books to
be seen as one long, interconnected novel in the way

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of Proust's autobiographical writing. The recorded album should be considered
a vast hours long soundtrack, running parallel with the stories
in the books, continuing plotlines and further explaining the characters
as they navigate a lifetime. Recent works have inclcluded the
Home and Away Quartet, which is comprised of the novels
After Tonight Everything Will Be Different twenty twenty two, The

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Internet Newspaper twenty twenty three, I Wish to Say Lovely
Things twenty twenty four, and Your Friends Will Carry You
Home twenty twenty five, and the Talking Song's collection The
World of Today and the World of Tomorrow, issued on
cassette twenty twenty one and lathe Cut CD twenty twenty six.
On September twenty sixth, twenty twenty six, The Numeral Group

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will reissue Gannatti's two thousand and five debut Talking Songs record, Run, Hide, Retreat,
Surrender on twelve inch final On October of twenty twenty six.
His fourteenth book, Wild Horse Shit, will be released by
Brett and Roses Press in conjunction with three to one g.
Born in San Diego, California, Adam Gannatti now lives on
a six acre farm in rural Kansas, near the towns

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of Lawrence and Tanoxie and a half an hour outside
Kansas City, Missouri. And Yeah, I'm murder Kiljoy. You can
find me on my other show, Koope Booted Cool Stuff.
I also write a bunch of fiction. You've probably heard
it on the show, or if not, you can go
back and listen to it on this show. My most
recent book is called The Immortal Choir Holds Every Voice,

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and it's maybe a similar in tone, only it has
demons in it. I don't know how else to describe it.
We will be back next week with more short fiction
and some surprises in the pot. Until then, in the
words of doctor Tyler Bonaghan, fuck the police, forever and
ever Amen. It Could Happen Here is a production of

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cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from cool Zone Media,
visit our website Coolzonemedia dot com, or check us out
on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen
to podcasts. You can now find sources for It Could
Happen Here listed directly in episode descriptions, Thanks for listening,