Primal Screamer

Nick Blinko

Description

A gothic horror tale of severe mental distress and punk rock, The Primal Screamer is written in the form of a diary kept by a psychiatrist, Dr. Rodney H. Dweller, concerning his patient, Nathaniel Snoxell, brought to him in 1979 after a series of attempted suicides. Snoxell gets involved in the nascent UK anarcho-punk scene, recording and playing gigs in squatted anarchist centres. In 1985, the good doctor himself 'goes insane' and disappears.This semi-autobiographical novel by singer, guitarist, lyricist and illustrator Nick Blinko features his unique artwork.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: PM Press
• Date de parution: 15 décembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781604866650
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 8 Mo

Extrait

he Primal Screamer © Nick Blinko, tis edition © 2012 PM Press.

First edition publised by Spare Cange Books, 1995.

ISBN: 978-1-60486-331-4 LCCN: 2011927955

Cover and interior design by Jos MacPee/Justseeds.org. Cover based on previous editions and Blinko’s original cover illustration.

PM Press PO Box 23912 Oakland, CA 94623 www.pmpress.org

Printed in te USA on recycled paper by te Employee Owners of homson-Sore in Dexter, MI. www.tomsonsore.com

NICK BLINKO

THE PRIMAL SCREAMER

PM PRESS

INTRODUCTION

Roger Neigbour, MA, FRCGP

I recently eard te novelist Margaret Drabble and er usband te biograper Micael Holroyd discussing te rival claims of fiction and non- fiction as pats towards understanding. he debate was entertaining, but only in te sense tat a firework display is entertaining. hen at question time someone in te audience stood up and wondered weter, in teir searc for trut, uman beings are capable of anytingotertan fiction. Doesn’t everyting we express, no matter ow “trutful” we intend it to be, come out distorted by virtue of aving passed troug our individual and unique minds? People often say tey want to know “te trut”. But even more tan trut, we crave meaning. Unless we can make our experiences “mean someting”—and tat’s wat our brains are for—we flounder and drown in a torrent of overwelmingly arbitrary circumstances. Trut is just watever, for now, gives events enoug meaning for us to get by on. So trut comes in different flavours, according to watever experiences would be meaningless witout it. Scientific trut, judicial trut, literary trut and mystical trut can all be different, yet equally valid. Fifteen years ago, early in my career as a general practitioner, I tougt I knew a lot of psycological truts. I’d ad training in counselling and psycoterapy, Jungian analysis, Gestalt and family terapy. All can be good ways of imparting meaning to a wide range of uman distress. But te distress of one young man, wo slased is wrists in a lonely ticket and could no more tell me wy tan could a newborn baby explain wy it cries, would not be coaxed into any of tese frameworks. It was powerful and violent; nonverbal. Preverbal. hen one day as I was trawling troug is memory for clues, is voice trailed off. He drew is knees up to is cest, and is ead inclined more and more to te left until is ead was almost down onto is soulder. Someting infantile about is appearance made me ask, “How old do you feel rigt now?” he reply came at once: “No age at all”.

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NICK BLINKO

In Zen tere is a saying,“Wen te pupil is ready, te Master appears”. At tat time, te end of te 1970s, umanistic psyciatrists suc as Artur Janov, R. D. Laing, Bill Emerson, Stan Grof and Frank Lake were developing concepts of birt trauma, intra-uterine memory, “te ostile womb”. And wat gave value to teir ideas was tat tey led to wat te ard language of science calls “terapeutic interventions”—ways of working wit te victims of embryonic trauma tat migt, if not rewrite te prenatal record, at least spring te lock on te prison of its effects. Well, I tried. And te rest is istory. History? Or fiction? As you read Nick Blinko’s story, you may feel less sure tan you did of te difference between fact and fantasy, between science and metapor. Wo better knows te landscape—te mapmaker or te traveller? At all events, I in my way and Nick in is bot know te trut of George Santayana’s epitet,“hose wo cannot remember te past are condemned to repeat it”.

Marc 1995

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TUES NOV 20 his day as been te most arrowing of my career to date. A young man was usered into te surgery by is moter. As te drastic nature of is condition became apparent, I was sent for immediately. Bot is wrists ad been cut, as deep as is possible witout actually severing te arteries, wic were semiexposed and quivering. He adn’t lost muc blood. hat wic ad been spilt was neverteless a frigtening purple colour. Fortunately, tick clots ad already formed on te wounds. He ad only sligt feeling at te base of is tumbs, but oterwise is ands functioned perfectly. I was urriedly informed tat te case was an attempted suicide.He ad really meant it. I was greatly socked. My stomac turned. he young man apologised for being a burden and for te obvious distress e was causing me; common enoug sentiments among suc cases. He also stated tattis placewas not were e ad intended to be, as if e ad failed to reac some preordained destination. I believe e said tese tings partly in reaction to te nurse wo, in er frigt, was muttering under er breat te clice “it’s a cry for elp” and generally tut-tutting. Rater tan offering te insigt of amateur psycology, er response was more an effort to calm erself. I must ave a word wit er about tis. It is never pleasant dealing wit emergency cases, but at least one can normally label suc incidents as genuine accidents and quickly tend to te injury. However, I ave never—even during my training—seen suc grievous self-inflicted injuries as tose tat lay upon te wrists of Nataniel Snoxell. Witin te our, using a new “freezing” spray aerosol as a makesift local anaestetic, I ad completed te stitcing of is orrific lacerations. I found te work went better if I imagined myself stringing my violin. he nurse completed treatment wit lints and bandages and an overall clean up of te affected areas, wilst I spoke wit te young man’s moter. I ad seen te knife e ad used and an antitetanus injection wasn’t necessary—not tat tey’re of any real use, save as placebos. he yout and I ten retired upstairs to my room, te remainder of my afternoon scedule being cancelled. Two greatly appreciated cups of tea were brougt up to us.

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