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40th anniversary reprinting of a beloved fable-manifesto from the 1970s queer counterculture.
A novel of the gay male experience in 1970's New York City.
Brian Roy’s heart can’t handle another ghost – his wife would kill him long before his bad heart does! Yet, he can’t leave his cousin Mitchell hanging. Mitch is principal of the Academy. After a cataclysmic senior class prank, the school is in shambles and dark secrets in the cellar escape. Bodies are piling up and Brian has no choice but to step in and hopefully save Mitchell and his school. Old Nathaniel Weiss, a cunning conversationalist, was the founder of the Academy. Greg Weston, a powerful pugilist, was a graduate long ago. The two sinister spirits wreak havoc as Mitch and Brian race against time to stop them from smooth-talking everyone into doing their deadly deeds or beating them to death! It’s war and Brian needs to prepare for a deadly battle. As the undead rise again, Brian faces a specter more deadly than any he could ever imagine. He realizes he’ll have to face his own personal demons ... and only time will tell if he’ll be the victim or the victor.
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Brian Roy, ghostbuster extraordinaire, is forced to admit the chills and thrills of his career are taking a toll on his bad ticker. To save his life, he takes a no-stress job as Superintendent of Woods Cemetery and can’t be happier … until dead people – angry dead people – rear their grisly heads and grasping hands, pulling him back into his old job! Brian’s first day quickly goes downhill when fog descends like an icy fortress, separating him from the outside world. Caught between a rock and a tombstone, he takes refuge in his office and learns there may be one way out. The crypt. Ruled by a malevolent spirit, the crypt and its undead residents are determined to make Brian their latest victim. When Brian’s wife, Jenny, learns what’s happening, she takes matters into her own hands. With the help of a ghost hunter, Jenny goes after her husband. But, nothing – absolutely nothing – can prepare them for the horrors they’ll face!
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"Combining powerful photographic images with gang members' first-person testimonies, Rich Remsbourg shows the ironic juxtaposition of tattoos, leather vests, and the iconography of the biker world with the Christian practices of Bible study, speaking in tongues, and praying at an altar. He explores the lives of men and women who have redirected the extreme nature of their former ways. Through their own powerful stories, they explain how the addictions and uncontrollable violence that once shaped their lives have given way to dramatic worship and zealous ministry."--BOOK JACKET.
It is not easy living among the dead. Before they go in the ground, they spend some time in a funeral parlor and use the occasion to get you, if you are the Night Man, the guy who runs the place from 5:00 P.M. to 7:00 A.M. When they come at you, they are always smiling, unless their face was botched by the person who makes a living making them smile. They rarely move, while youre watching. They hide their actions to fool the living, but not me. I was always on my guard. What a plush job, I thought, when I signed up. 1. Answer the phone, then call the boss to report who died and where. (But eventually, a call comes from a hysterical woman: My husband just hung himself in the shower and youre thinking, How did he do it? Was he a midget?) 2. If there are any bodies downstairs, take the bereaved to them. (But, eventually, a daughter hugs her mother for the last time, and the coffin hits the floor and Mom rolls out, and you call the boss and say, real seriously, Theres a problem in the Chapel) You can handle thesebut not the dead when they come at you in a thousand ways
He wrote about vigilantes during the Covid lockdowns. What could possibly go wrong? Grant McLachlan is a researcher and writer who has exposed dirty politics at local and central government level. With a background in law and town planning, he moved to the sleepy seaside suburb of Snells Beach to convalesce. Walking his dog along the esplanade provided routine and social interaction with the large dog walking community. A group of beachfront Boomers had other ideas. Under the guise of the ratepayers’ association and Neighbourhood Support, they chipped away at banning the predominant activities of beach users. The priggish, Nimby killjoys targeted everyone from developers, picnickers, motor...