THE MOREAU ZOO
Do not feed the octoshark,
nor the sharktopus.
I’ve yet to decide which to cull,
which will thrive. What would Darwin do?
Hand me that blunderbuss.
Never look the hypnotoad in the eye
unless you want to mutate
into a Cronenberg-inspired horsefly.
Be warned, human, there is no mating call
like that of the Jesus Monkey.
Makes you wet like a tropical storm,
hard like a unicorn.
Nothing like a bit of inter-species
if you know what I mean.
Don’t throw stones at the Komodo Kid!
That’s my son, and so what if he eats carrion.
He’s cold-blooded, but he has feelings too.
That’s no way to treat the animals
at the Moreau Zoo.
T-REX IS SAD :(
I used to be a mega-carnivore.
I used to be a fearsome dinosaur.
A six-ton window-licker, forty feet from snout to tail.
A mechatronic tower of forest-green mosaic-scales.
Tyrannosaurus Rex made children scream—
he made them urinate.
Now I’m the laughing stock of the internet:
a meme with tiny arms, a totalmockery.
No one makes fun of Thalidomide babies...
At least I...
I've created a Monster...
Dawn of the Algorithm is an illustrated poetry collection about the end of the world. It's about giants, robots, aliens and dinosaurs; disasters, catastrophes and spectacular cataclysms. By analogy, it is also about rupture: the micro-apocalypses that spark when you throw together love, longing, friendship and loss—what some might call The Dark Side of the human experience.
We cultivate a morbid fascination for the Apocalypse, the foretold End of All Things. The very notion is a vector for self-analysis—a snap judgment of humankind by projecting into the future. What form will it take? Natural selection or pure self-destruction? Which sin of man will cause the downfall of mankind? Who, or what, will survive?
Unsurprisingly, the poems are a tad cynical, but with a dash of hope and often, if not always, a fluorescent silly streak. The collection is visually quite hyperbolic and literally quite offensive, but always with the best intentions. It will provide you with healthy food for thought and a spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down. As a bonus, it may help to make pop-culture taste less vapid and the Internet less depraved—or more so; it's all a matter of perspective.
Stranger Danger! Who is this
My name is Yann Rousselot. I’m French/British but most people think I’m American because I sound like one. (It’s a long story involving diplomats, international schools and locations with otherworldly names like Xai Xai, Nosy Bé or Bashundhara.) I have two Masters Degrees, one in languages and another in translation, and my daylight trade as a technical translator involves selling products and managing projects in which the hard currency is words.
My moonlight trade is writing prose and poetry, performing at poetry readings, and working to hone my craft. Over
the past few years, this has resulted in my contribution to a variety of
publications, both in print and online.
Living here in Paris I fell into a dangerous subculture of spoken word poetry in the underground cave of a little café called Au Chat Noir, and most of this work is the net result of my dancing with the bohemian devils I met there. I dedicate this book to them all.
With your Money
The bulk of the capital will go to the physical/digital book production: a top-tier editor, marketing campaign, printing, distribution... The remaining slice, and every dollar over the funding goal, will allow me to give a little something back to the (amazing & generous) illustrators who will be interpreting specific poems in hand-drawn or digital artwork. I like to think of this as a form of translation: a technical, very pragmatic process, but also an homage, a nod of the head to another human being that says: I see what you did there.
Why I do what I do
I like to write poetry for those of you who don't like poetry. I like to find meaning in the least poetic things. The disreputable, mass-market, pop-flavoured things. In the words of a famous medical practitioner: these things are fun, and fun is good. I want to make readers think, explore the existential void within us all, but always with a smile.
There is a lot of myself in these works and in that sense I believe there must be a piece of you, reader, as well. Think of it as a private cup-and-string telephone from your skull to mine because that’s what poetry, and art in general, is really all about.
This is where you come in. There is no I in TEAM. Our generation is ushering in a new, democratic publishing model, and I believe this is a noble cause. Become a patron of the arts. If you are willing to bloody your hands with me and midwife this infant alien chestburster into the world, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. In return, I give you my best writing. Now put on those latex gloves. We have work to do.
10$ = Velociraptor: 1 ebook + High-definition scans of all the artwork in the collection + updates
25$ = Tyrannosaurus: 1 ebook + 1 print book + High-def scans + Audiobook of selected poems + updates
50$ = Brontosaurus: 1 ebook + 3 print books + High-def scans + Audiobook + an IOU for 1 hug/1 personal phone call + updates
100$ and over = Mechagodzilla: 1 ebook + 3 print books + High-def scans + Audiobook + IOU + 1 personal, hand-written poem + updates