Tracey Farmer

Tracey Farmer looked down upon himself. His face was purple, his tongue was fat and erratically bobbing in and out of his mouth. He was even biting it, hideous and comical, and little jets of blood were signing themselves on his staff, binding them to him. His eyes were fixed on nothing but his own private horror, and his body convulsed like so much meat at an abattoir. "Oh my ..." Tracey Farmer is almost exactly the same story told twice - a key change affecting the way you will connect, react, rage and rant both with and at the novel. Its journey is rooted in Love that fears expression, a life that fears the brave and lonely choices of steering our human herd in new directions ...directions which, ultimately, come upon us either via our engagement in readiness for them, or our shock and fear if we have ignored their arrival.