Latest Novels
"Herein lies the danger of the
practice... If the mesmerist is
corrupt of heart, foul of mind,
and diseased of soul, the vital
fluid which he projects will be
tainted..."

When Philip K. Dick found himself
suddenly transported to New
Testament Syria, he must have run
into his namesake, Philip the
Deacon.
VITAL FLUID reverses the
time flow, and brings the first
Philip to the twenty-first
century, along with his
transmigrationally entangled
nemesis, Simon Magus.

They've returned as rival
hypnotists, staging an
increasingly bizarre series of
shows across America, mesmerizing
teenagers in an Indian
reservation, a Mormon
polygamist's military academy and
a Columbine-like high school.
Damnation and Salvation in the
American Food Services Industry!

Spencer Sproul is a would-be
serial-killing bus boy.  But he
can't manage to murder, injure, or
even scare anybody. It's not for
lack of trying.  He sublimates on
the job and becomes a rising star of
the family restaurant
business.

Spencer learns that a family
restaurant can be an instrument of
torture, too. If the food, music,
decor and waitress uniforms are
"ratcheted up" to just the right
levels, the place can grate
subliminally on people's nerves, and
stimulate their masochistic
tendencies.  Customers come
flocking, as to a Hannibal the
Cannibal movie.

The Better Business Bureau takes
notice.  But, before Spencer can
take his seat of honor at the
Merchant of the Month Award Banquet,
he must bumble his way past a
pederastic restaurant critic, a
trash-talking sex worker, a
cellulite-worshiping convenience
store clerk, and a police force
filled with homophobes, overeducated
commies and greedy homicide
detectives.

LEMUR is an all-American success
story!
Crossing Chaos Enigmatic Ink
Raw Dog Screaming Press

Advocate review

unexpurgated Advocate rave at
The Imperial Youth Review

Tom YouTubes it

Tom discusses LEMUR with
Israeli journalist Barry Katz
This wizard war climaxes at an East L.A. ghetto community center full
the Department of Homeland Security must be called in.

On the way, Philip and Simon make a reincarnational pit stop in
nineteenth-century Europe. They are embodied in another pair of
wonder-workers, actual historical figures from the glory days of
mesmerism, who entranced lions for Queen Victoria and rendered altar
boys malleable for Pope Pius IX.

Vital Fluid is inspired by the uncanny performances and fascinating
life of John-Ivan Palmer, the top stage hypnotist in America today, who
says--

"
Vital Fluid is a masterpiece. There are no words to describe the eerie
dream this book is to me."
read Tom's heptafold review of Crossing Chaos Enigmatic Ink's
inaugural list in Exquisite Corpse
The Bomb Baby was in Hiroshima, in
utero, at the moment of the glamorous
detonation. As a result of prenatal
exposure to gamma rays, he is tiny and
mentally deficient, but his physical
vigor is unimpaired.

Living on a makeshift raft on the river
that runs through town, he only comes
ashore to disrupt high-tone weddings at
Hiroshima Cathedral. It’s a hobby for
him. He disappears soon after spoiling
a Yakuza wedding.

This doesn’t sit well with the leading
lights of the expatriate community, who
have adopted the bomb baby as a mascot.
They dispatch Sam Edwine, a reluctant
and inefficient American slob, to
search "Boom Town's" sordid and musty
places, of which there is a wide
assortment...

New edition of
BOMB BABY, with a deluxe
special added bonus: the feature-length
screenplay version! Now you can help
Sam Edwine scour Hiroshima's wide
variety of dark, musty places in haute
cinematique style.
R. V. Cassill called Acting Alone
"a vast maelstrom spun from an
imagination of superlative
dimensions." Stanley Elkin found
this novel to have "an incredible
energy level."

The book they are describing opens
at a cow college in Kansas,
proceeds to holiday doings in
Kiev, Nebraska, home of a
disturbed young marine recently
released by the Revolutionary
Guards in Iran, then spirals
toward Cheyenne Mountain, home of
NORAD (the North American Air
Defense Command) and the convent
of the Servant Sisters of Saint
Willibrord of Perpetual Adoration.
There a dangerous plot spun by a
renegade Mormon threatens to upset
the protagonist's plans for
material and marital well-being.

Now available in this second
edition, featuring new cover art
by Nick Patterson.
The Drill Press
Dynatox Ministries
Tom Bradley gets the bright idea
of persuading a peyote-crazed
Vietnam vet to show his memoirs to
a National Book-winner. Vertebrae
are karate-kicked, a seminar room
is demolished and set on fire, and
a gaggle of Creative Writing MFA
point of urinary incontinence.
"...With a knack for combining
colorful argot and a learned style
full of historical and
philosophical references,
[Bradley] weaves it all into
scenes of low buffoonery and deep
subtext. What results is a bizarre
point of view, full of odd
insights...
"A famous unnamed writer (E.L.
Doctorow, I have it on good
authority) comes to Bradley's
university (downwind from a
nuclear hot zone) and conducts a
writer's workshop... hilariously
described, with snide reference to
the 'reptilian appeal' of best
sellers, grant recipients who
'hold forth for holding forth's
own sake,' and poets 'exuding
"The real point of reading
Bradley, aside from his
illumination of the ridiculous
and grotesque world around us,
is the rolling cadence of his
pitch-perfect writing. We prize
competent prose here at Danse
Macabre, but we absolutely adore
Bradley’s work, the strong,
steady voice guiding us with
spot-on verbiage and heady
switchbacks to revelations by
turns disgusting, divine, and
gut-bustingly hilarious."
--James Kendley, Danse Macabre

"Tom Bradley is one of the most
misunderstood and ill-
appreciated master-writers on
the planet... This spectacular
literary Lucifer, star of the
East, talks like Hume might be
imagined to have spoken to the
comely Grisettes of pre-
Revolutionary Paris (Well, here
we are, young ladies! Here we
are!)..."
--Jesse Glass, author of The
Lost Poet
Enigmatic Ink
earnest inarticulateness.' On one level this essay-as-slapstick exposes
the pretensions of contemporary writing, while on another level the story
climaxes with the Vietnam vet setting fire to the place and being removed
by campus police. After that, Bradley writes, 'The English Department
never treated me the same.'"
--nthposition Magazine

"The real point of reading Bradley, aside from his illumination of the
ridiculous and grotesque world around us, is the rolling cadence of his
pitch-perfect writing."
--Danse Macabre

Read all about Tom Bradley's
teenage gig performing Mozart and
Debussy grotesquely on the harp at
a geothermal spa, deep in the
savage Utah desert. The place is
run by a coven of polygamist
Kali-worshipping tantric orgiasts
who sell fake Crowleyana to rock
star Jimmy Page.

"You will either love this slim
psycho-memoir-prose-poem-mind-trip
or you will hate it. I can't
imagine any reader falling in the
middle. This is evocative,
provocative, balls-out writing,
and in all the love and hate to
come, I want to cast the weight of
one overwhelmingly normal,
middle-aged literary warhorse on
the love side."
--Joni Rodgers, author of Bald in
the Land of Big Hair

Unlikely Books

"One of the hallmarks of [Tom
Bradley's] work is a mania that
reads as ecstasy.
My Hands Were
Clean
is a joy to read because the
author and narrator seem caught up
in a mad enthusiasm, an insatiable
glee, an absolute pleasure in the
written word. The final pages
reinforce this impression, tying
[Bradley's] decision to write,
while being paid to do otherwise,
into [his] narrative style.... The
plot, based as it is in LSD, is
connected to--perhaps even derived
from--that maniacal ecstasy. It's
not an expose on how Mormon sex
cults are dangerous; it's a novel,
of undetermined factuality, on how
Mormon sex cults are hilarious."
--Jonathan Penton, author of
Standards of Sadiddy

Chris Kelso, the charismatic
Caledonian, has collaborated with
Tom Bradley in writing this book.
Cover art and interior
illustrations are by the
astonishing Nick Patterson!

Depicted here is Sheila the
She-God, who presides over
London's formerly semi-fashionable
Goneril Square. Inspired by the
Cathars and the Bogomils, the
Chabad-Lubavitcher Hasidim and the
Mohel Rabbis, the Borborites and
the Manichaeans, the Vajrayana
Buddhists and the ecclesiastical
branch of Aleister Crowley's Ordo
Templi Orientis, not to mention  

Bizarro Pulp Press

the Carpocratians and sundry
otherSpermo-Gnostic sects,
Sheila's transgendered clergy hunt
down and sacrifice--not humans,
but human bodily fluids. Splooge
plus catamenia are harvested and
wafted aloft, burnt-offering-wise,
to our She-God in the smog.

Perverse and profane,
Kelso and Bradley make it rain,
sluicing the godly
and fluids (bodily)
down the drain.
--John Skipp,
author of The Last Goddam
Hollywood Movie