Broodcomb Press, Inexistent Texts No. 1, Postcards 10 pc., £6 [Limited] – 2020 – SOLD OUT
A set of ten postcards for imagined books, beautifully collected and strictly limited.
These ten inexistent texts fit into the strange tales, experimental fiction and poetry ethos of Broodcomb Press. From the sinister imaginary friend of Mompetty to the twilight ritual of Death and the Bachelor, this collection of postcards is the perfect short introduction to the peninsula. Designed to be bookmarks/thank you notes for Broodcomb Press books, forty complete sets of Inexistent Texts No. 1 [bc08a] are offered for sale.
Once they’re gone, they’re gone—
Broodcomb Press, Eaten Cruelties, .pdf 43 pp., £0 [Unlimited] – 2021
Another experimental, cyborg-Oulipo text ‘read’ by image reading software to see what it would make of the pages. I took some photographs and opened them as text docs, which turns any script in the image into text that can be cut and pasted.
“It continues to fascinate me the images of the pages of this evening’s diversion were each ‘read’ by image reading software. It’s the function of the machine – it’s only doing its job – but the fact interpreting software gives meaning to nonsense – gives something in return for nothing – raises disturbing questions about the validity of interpretation. If a machine gets better at ‘reading’ such scripts, nonsense may come to look more and more like sense, and if a certain point is reached where the bulk of the interpreted text looks right, then the pull towards believing what the machine has produced is the truth will be persuasive.”
–from the introduction to Eaten Cruelties.
Broodcomb Press, The Sour Child, .pdf 43 pp., £0 [Unlimited] – 2020
“Following the typesetting for Edita Bikker’s The Night of Turns, the hard copy proof was recycled to make new notebooks. Significant portions of text were unmarked, however, so I used sections of these pages to create a small one-off book. I cut holes in the pages (after B.S. Johnson’s Albert Angelo) and assembled the book block from these sheets. I cut up sections of a red print of the book’s cover art for the jacket. It was a rainy autumn Wednesday afternoon—
In the middle of the night, it occurred I might use image reading software to see what it would make of the pages. I took some photographs and opened them as text docs, which turns any script in the image into text that can be cut and pasted. I then copied the subsequent ‘readings’. The sections, and the different text directions, challenged the programme to find meaning where there was none, and this resulted in some curious – if not entirely random – texts.”
–from the introduction to The Sour Child.