A reckless voyage into the apocalypse against which we hurl ourselves
night after night, entirely political and thus relentlessly personal,
self-lacerating, perhaps a bit disordered, no doubt perilously lucid.
Moving through the shards of the decade’s social movements and the
torments of persisting within the wreckage, the book forms a complex web
of lament and refusal. Its guides are Pasolini, Baudelaire, and
especially Katerina Gogou, the great Greek poet, anarchist, and suicide.
Our guide is Bonney himself, and there is none like him.