“But the thing about the Cenobites is that what they do is pleasure. Frank dreams of simple rutting, but the Cenobites are unearthly sadomasochists. Their obsessively ordered flesh, flayed and stretched and impaled, is how they get off – an exalted, ritualistic perversion. Their bodies are shrines to their faith, physical manifestations of a monastic devotion to ‘the further regions of experience.’ Frank refers to them as hierophants, or interpreters of mysteries; they untangle the puzzle of flesh for their summoners.”
-Astrid Budgor, Unwinnable



Belfie Hell is a travelogue of a world reduced to mere information, our surroundings rendered frightening and alien; a world too cluttered to effectively parse. It’s a novel trapped in an endless cycle of expansion and contraction, destruction and revision, like an auto-immune disorder forcing the host-body to attack itself until it becomes something new and unthinkable.

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