This is the Chop Shop. But this is not only a book. This is an emphatic bloodcurdlin battle-cry. This is a brutal and vitriolic call to arms. This is a glittering impassioned scream painted in blood. This is the stained shard of a shattered mirror where you can look deeply into your own dead, black eyes. This is a portrait of the darkness that has been scraped out of the damp recesses of all of our collective minds. This is the filth that festers in our fears and doubts that refuses to be acknowledged and displayed in the harsh light of day. This is a savage account of love loss hatred obsession disgust pain insanity self-loathing devotion and contempt that no one will ever admit to experiencing. These are the stories that most people are afraid to tell. These are the subversive thoughts that cling to our skulls like a malignant cancer. These are the whispering voices in your head spoken aloud. This is the unwavering brutality of the human race carved into paper for all to see. Here is a heart torn open and bleeding. All you need is the courage to look inside at its scorched sticky black depths. This is a book about being angry and powerless and the burning black resentment that gradually grows in the pit of your stomach as you realise that most of the world doesn’t care about you and your trivial problems.
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