Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} The Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin' Sad by Adam Gnade ABOUT MY PATREON. Patreon is sort of a tip jar for artists. I don't recall who said that, but it's pretty spot-on. Mine is right here . Below is the ABOUT section from my Patreon page, so you can see what it's all about. Hi. My name is Adam Gnade. I'm from the bordertown of San Diego, California, but I've spent the last ten years homesteading in rural Kansas. I write novels as well as a connected series of audio recordings of writing released on cassette. I've also published a nonfiction book about fighting the Big Motherfuckin' Sad. WHY I'M HERE: I want to make something big and substantial, something of lasting value--a book you will give your heart to, a record of tracks you can live through during rough times. This is why I'm here. I don't (just) mean on Patreon, but also HERE and ALIVE and sticking around while so many signs point to throwin' in the towel. The main thing I look for in the books that I read and the records and films that I love is something to make me feel less alone, to give me a sense of commonality and connection with a world I feel increasingly estranged from. I want to make art that does the same for other people; the sort of work that makes you go, "That's me. I feel that way too!" or "Okay, this week was hard, but I feel a little stronger now having read that." I believe storytelling goes beyond entertainment. It's part of how we navigate, heal, and survive. (And sometimes it really is just plain ol' entertainment, and sometimes entertainment is how we navigate, heal, and survive. Both are vital to any culture, global or small.) In my book the Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin' Sad (Pioneers Press, 2013) I tried my best to give ideas that comfort or act as a lantern in the stupid, shitty darkness we all trudge through at some point. My fiction, both in the books Float Me Away, Floodwaters (Three One G/Bread & Roses Press, 2021), This is the End of Something But It's Not the End of You (Three One G/Pioneers Press, 2020), Locust House (Pioneers Press/Three One G, 2016), Caveworld (Pioneers Press, 2013), California (Double Suns, Oxford UK, 2011), and Hymn California (Dutch Money, 2008) and their recorded audio companion pieces, like my cassette Voicemails from the Great Satan (Three One G, 2018), have the same set of ideas--which are what amounts to my own code of ethics and truth. Unlike the Big Sad book, in my literary work they're buried in story, the answers sometimes hidden behind the questions. If any of my writing has helped you at some point in your life, please consider doing me a solid favor and become a patron of my art. You will keep me fed, housed, and working and I promise to deliver my best, truest things as often as they come. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Please keep fighting, treating people well, and being who you are in this brutal mess of a world. The Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin' Sad by Adam Gnade. Here's my official bio and artist statement. Adam Gnade's work is released as a series of books and records that share characters and themes; the fiction writing continuing plot-lines left open by the self-described "talking songs" in an attempt to compile a vast, detailed, interconnected, personal history of contemporary American life. Gnade (pronounced "guh-naw-dee") was born in San Diego, California, and cut his teeth at the houseparties and all-ages shows of his hometown’s experimental art scene. After running the weekly newspaper Fahrenheit San Diego with Jessie Duke, Demetrius Antuna, Jamey Bainer, Sohrob Nikzad, and Elizabeth Thompson, Gnade went on the road, crossing the country, as he says, "what felt like endlessly, in cars and buses and trains" while writing what would become the first two works of his connected series. Later settling in Portland, Oregon, Gnade issued these two releases, his debut record, Run Hide Retreat Surrender via Loud + Clear Records, and then his first novel, Hymn California, three years later on CASH Music‘s DutchMoney Books. Both saw extensive touring in the US and overseas along with artists such as Jonquil, Eugene McGuinness, Blood Red Shoes, and Oxford, England’s Youthmovies, the latter of which released Honey Slides , a collaborative "talking songs" EP with Gnade via Try Harder Records (Foals, the Joy Formidable) which followed up the Shout the Rafters Down! EP on the Drowned in Sound label. Both EPs received substantial UK and EU radio play and were followed by further overseas touring. Two more "talking song" tracks with Youthmovies were released as part of the Polyp EP in 2009 via the Blast First Petite label (John Fahey, Suicide, the Slits). In 2010, Gnade left Portland and went "back to the land," starting the Hard Fifty Farm in rural Kansas with Jessie Duke. Before relocating to Ann Arbor, Michigan with her two toddler sons and partner, journalist, TED Fellow, and Green is the New Red author Will Potter, Duke launched the publishing house Pioneers Press in 2013, releasing Gnade’s next two books, a novel, Caveworld , and his sole work of nonfiction, The Do-It- Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin‘ Sad , which would become the #1 bestseller of Powell’s Books‘ small press section for many consecutive years following its publication. In 2016 Gnade signed with San Diego-based label/publisher Three One G (The Locust, Silent, Blood Brothers, Doomsday Student, Head Wound City, Black Dice, Antioch Arrow, etc) and released a novella, Locust House (a co-publication with Pioneers Press). His next Three One G releases were two "talkings songs" EPs, Greater Mythology Blues and AMERICANS , as well as a digital single of "talking song" vocals backed by the band Planet B (members of The Locust, Head Wound City, Dead Cross, Retox, etc). Recent "talking songs" have featured members of Gang of Four, the Crimson Curse, Castanets, Swing Kids, Chad Valley, All Leather, Some Girls, Tulpa Luna, Modest Mouse, Ohioan, Sydney Eloise and the Palms, Holy Molar, Menomena, and 65daysofstatic. Performing "talking songs" and reading works of fiction, Gnade has shared stages and festival bills with Calvin Johnson, Foals, Fuck Buttons, the Album Leaf, Nathaniel Kennon Perkins, Bart Schaneman, Justin Pearson, Julia Eff, Thurston Moore, Godspeed! You Black Emperor, Under White Pines, Alana Amram, Television, the Evolutionary Jass Band, the Max Levine Ensemble, Tortoise, BEAK, Mum, Charlie Cunningham, the Wild, Ramshackle Glory, Garden Club, Teri Quinn, Dylan Pyles, Adrian Orange, Wolf Eyes, Andrew Mears, Har Mar Superstar, Scout Niblett, Ebsen and the Witch, Big Cosmos, House of Brothers, Eugene McGuinness, Castanets, Jeff Rosenstock, Les Savy Fav, Viking Moses, Levon Helm, Julia Dixon Evans, George Pringle, Angelo Spencer, These Monsters, Jonquil, Larsen B, Ohioan, Youthmovies, Blood Red Shoes, Catsandcatsandcats, Erin Tobey, Morgan Eldridge, Your Heart Breaks, Dinosaur Jr, regular collaborator Demetrius Antuna, and more. Recent performances have been at the All Tomorrow’s Parties "End of an Era" Festival, ATP’s Netil House Takeover in London, Plan-It-X Fest, as well as various house shows, bookfairs, and in-stores. Recent audio releases include the Three One G cassettes Life is the Meatginder that Sucks in All Things and Voicemails from the Great Satan , collaborations with Planet B and Demetrius Antuna, respectively. Two collections of home demos, The Goddamn Marching Tide and Isolation Tapes, were released in spring 2019 and spring 2020. His most recent audio release is a two song collaboration with the goth band Tulpa Luna on 7" vinyl, issued by Sell the Heart Records. Gnade's third novel, This is the End of Something But It's Not the End of You, was released February 14th, 2020 via Three One G and Pioneers Press. The novel was reprinted in February of 2021 by Three One G and Bread & Roses Press. His fourth, Float Me Away, Floodwaters , was released January 5th, 2021 by Bread & Roses Press and Three One G. In February of 2021, Gnade launched a record label to release poetry and stories on cassette. Hello America Stereo Cassette has issued work by Jared Thomas Friend with music by Gogo Erlandson and Death Ribbons, Juliet Escoria, Sam Johnson, Lora Mathis, Jessie Lynn McMains, Charlotte Larson with music by Jeff Cowdon, and Nathaniel Kennon Perkins. RECENT PRESS. All across America, Adam Gnade knows the blue highways and the sad honky-tonks and the names of towns that time will one day forget. He’s traveled this country enough by car, bus, train, and plane to make anyone want to stay home for a while. His home is the rural Great Plains of eastern Kansas, where when he’s not on the road performing talking songs and giving readings he’s taking care of a mini Noah’s Ark of rescue animals. This is where he does his real work of figuring out what he wants from this brief time we have.At first glance, Gnade’s writing falls into the tradition of that simplest of literary pursuits — go out and live and tell stories. But where Gnade transcends that almost perfunctory role of the writer as casual observer is when he blends the technique with the system of beliefs he’s been refining over the years. So that’s the pattern of his work — travel, gather stories, go home and write about that, too — and that’s all here in this new book, Float Me Away, Floodwaters . It’s one part A Do It Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin’ Sad , one part Kerouacian travelogue and one part Southern Gothic life-as-it-is . All of it fiction, but told from the heart and soul of someone who has earned every story and bit of passed-on wisdom. In this interview — full disclosure, I’ve been friends with Gnade for about 15 years and we consult one another on our work — I ask about his feelings toward this country, his fondness for autofiction, and how he’s able to write so generously about the people in his life. Q: How does this book fit into your universe of characters and themes? A: Everything I write is part of a big connected universe. My books all share characters, this one included, and thematically there’s a lot of eating in this one just like in all the rest, a lot of driving around, and a lot of me trying to give people (and myself, I guess) reasons to not kill themselves. My next book will only be about eating. This is not at all a joke. Q: Can you talk a little about the title? What meaning do you think it imparts? A: The title’s a prayer, but a secular one. Like, “Get me the fuck outta here,” y’know? “Save me from this awful, shitty situation I’m in.” It’s about trying to find a better, safer, happier place for yourself, and not just physically. As our country continues to fall down this ridiculous fucking shit- hole, a lot of people might be thinking along those lines. Like, “What the fuck is wrong with my life? I need something to change and I need it tonight.” That’s like every good Springsteen song ever, right? I’m constantly thinking, like, “Wow, man, shit is so fucked. What do I do NOW?” I think the best reason to write is to work out your problems so you’re not miserable all the time, and maybe help someone in the process. The rest is mostly showbiz. Of course showbiz is important too. I think I’m an exhibitionist introvert or something. Not in a sexual way; I mean as far as my own work, my life, my audience, the performative aspects of doing events and touring and of course social media, and the ways I navigate those as they connect. That’s showbiz too. Q: When you were writing this book and out on the road how did the country feel to you? And how do you think that’s changed? A: I was on the road a lot when I was writing Float Me Away, Floodwaters and its predecessor, This is the End of Something But It’s Not the End of You . I imagine I took it for granted. Didn’t appreciate how good I had it. Y’know, wandering around like a dumb fucking idiot going to bars in the country and tossing myself in rivers and staying up all night with people in new towns. I’ve done that often and now … now in 2020 I stay at home and I write. I feel like traveling would be heavy these days. Check it out, I’ve written three books this year. That’s nuts to me, and fucking great, absolutely exciting; I’m very proud of that. They’re short novels like Floodwaters , but by year’s end I’ll have three manuscripts ready to be edited. I’ve been productive, but I don’t ever want to have a year like this again. It’s been rough for me besides getting a lot of work done. I was evicted in the heart of the pandemic. Had a very hard time landing a new place to move my farm. Some Secret of NIMH , Lee of the Stone shit. Got COVID right after that. A lot of the people close to me fell ill and some still are. I think one of the reasons I wrote so damn much this year was to take my mind off it all. Worrying about family, about friends, about my own future, about murderous cops, the rise of fascism, fucking new militias popping up like fucking warts, and whether I’d have a roof over my head a week from then. Thankfully I found a beautiful piece of land and I plan to hunker down here extravagantly for the rest of this pandemic. I’m very very lucky to be able to write for a living. That makes things easier. Q: What is rural life like in 2020? How do people seem to you? A: We’ve got some mean bastards where I live. Antimaskers armed to the teeth. Confederate flags and Trump signs on their lawns. It’s always been that way, but it’s much worse now. There was a family of actual Nazis down the road from our old farm who thankfully split like a bunch of ghosts when their awful diseased troll patriarch died one night. They were not fun people to deal with. I really don’t like guns. I don’t like macho guys. Men out here mostly suck. Q: Part of this book is about how the climate is changing in the country — floods, extreme weather. What do you think that’s going to mean for the people you write about in the future? A: I have no idea what’ll happen to me or my characters, but life is going to change dramatically, isn’t it? Climate change is the great war of our time. We all have to work actively to do our part. But we’re not. Most of us aren’t. Not yet. For every Greta Thunberg, we have a million people who will never change a thing about their lives even as the ship goes down. It’s frustrating. I don’t know what to do either. I think about it constantly and I feel lost. Especially when all the money you make goes to food and housing. How do you make a difference without greater resources? I plan to keep writing about it. That’s what I can do. Q: The country is in a lot of pain. Maybe it always has been, but it feels worse right now. Despite that, you seem to still be curious about this country and its people. What drives you to go out and travel and take interest in some of these places? A: I like to see new towns. I like to go to different gas stations. Swim in lakes I’ve never swam in. Sometimes I like meeting new people. A lot of the time I’d rather be left the fuck alone to drive around and think. I love driving at night. It’s one of the things I love best. Driving at night and listening to music really loud. Of course in the midst of doing that you meet people whether you like it or not and I generally find myself thankful that I did. Q: You do a good job of being generous to your characters. You seem able to write about anyone and to describe them in a non-judgmental way. That’s harder than it looks. What’s your strategy when it comes to writing about people in your life? A: I’m judgmental and I’m a terrible snob, and I fight every day to not be that way. Maybe that comes out in how I treat my characters. I try to cut people a lot of slack because being alive is like living in hell sometimes. Life is very gothic. Q: To that end, this type of auto-fiction you do — where it’s clear you’ve hewed closely to the events of your life but changed people’s names and allowed yourself some creative license when depicting the events — feels very relevant to our times in some ways. I know this is a type of writing more popular in other countries, France, for example, and the work of Karl Ove Knausgard and Roberto Bolaño are some other popular examples, but American writing seems to look askance at this style. Why do you choose to write this way, and why do you think American literature prefers fiction that’s less autobiographical? A: The most straightforward answer is that it’s the kind of writing I most like to read. So, look, I’ve been working on a set of rules for myself this year and one of them is to only write books you would want to read but also to write books only you could write. Which to me means you write from your own experience and try to do so as truthfully and personally as possible. Why don’t Americans like that sort of writing? I’m not completely sure they don’t, at least right now, at this very moment in literature. Look at Ocean Vuong’s very successful–and important, beautiful, vital–novel On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous . That’s the shit I shoot for. Also, most of the current poetry that’s popular is basically autofiction with line breaks. The people who read my own books are way more into them when they’re closer to true. Floodwaters and This is the End of Something are barely fiction at all and they’ve been much more popular than my earlier traditional fiction like Caveworld . I feel pretty okay about Americans’ taste in books. My audience is maybe younger than some. Early-to-mid-twenties mostly? So perhaps having grown up with social media they’re more geared toward autobiographical writing than the people of my generation and generations older than me. Either way, I feel great about people’s taste right now. I like that people like what I’m doing. It’s an exciting time to be alive in that regard. Maybe only in that regard. The rest is a nightmare. FANZINE. A BYRONIC MOTHERFUCKER: An Interview with Adam Gnade. I first came across Adam Gnade’s work over a decade ago. I had just moved into my first apartment, in a ‘cool’ neighborhood in San Diego, after having grown up in a decidedly ‘uncool’ suburb twenty minutes north. Gnade was an editor at Farenheit , a free newspaper that I picked up from the coffee shop across the street every Tuesday immediately after it was published. The paper was basically what all free weeklies strive to be, a portal to the best local shows and bands that an uncool suburb kid like me might never have known about otherwise. Like most truly great things, it didn’t last long, dissolving just over a year after it was founded. Gnade came across my work about a year ago, liked it, and then messaged me about it. We have a fair amount in common—we’re both writers who are more than slightly obsessed with the side to San Diego that has nothing to do with beaches or fish tacos, and have since left our sunny hometown for a more rural life. Gnade is the author of over a dozen works, most notably Caveworld , a novel that tells the story of a city– San Diego–and a family–his own–over the course of several decades, and The Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin’ Sad , which is fairly self-explanatory, and an indie-press bestseller three years running. Most recently, he is the author of Locust House , a novella that covers a single night in 2002, at a party house named after local legend The Locust, a band that, according to Wikipedia, is “known for their unique mix of grindcore speed and aggression, complexity, and new wave weirdness.” We discussed his work, San Diego, farm life, and more over a series of emails. Fanzine: Locust House is about a lot of things, but at the center of it is the San Diego music scene of the late ’90s-early ’00s. I think it’s safe to say that we both have mixed feelings about our hometown, but I’ve always felt proud of being from a city that fostered so many great bands – all the Three One G bands, Three Mile Pilot, Drive Like Jehu, etc. Are there any shows from that time that were particularly memorable for you? Adam Gnade: Some of the best shows were actually wakes. A lot of messy, violent house shows with bands that ripped off the Birthday Party and did it so well, which I think is thanks to Antioch Arrow coming up in the generation prior. Any Relics show, which is a band most people won’t know. Black Heart Procession, Album Leaf, Holy Molar. Any Gravity band and any Beautiful Mutants show and any Locust show. Anytime the after-party ended up in Tijuana. Tristeza anywhere, because their early songs sound just like the landscape of Sherman or Logan or Golden Hill— sunny, looping, nodding guitar parts, hills of sound with big empty blue sky above you and you’re driving over those hills in a rusty terrible car but you’re dressed well, and those synth parts and loops cycling as repetitious as the lines of palm trees on the sidewalks. Their songs “Building Peaks,” “Respira,” and “Golden Hill” are fine examples of that. I think I’ve never fully been able to grasp San Diego (or Southern California, for that matter). People move there and like it because it is sunny and beautiful and nice, and it is all those things, but there’s something very dark underneath it too. This juxtaposition has made it into your work, and my work, and the music of the aforementioned bands, but I’ve still never been able to put my finger on what it is or where it comes from. Some of it has to do with artificiality, but it’s more complicated than that. What the hell do you think it is? That’s one of the things I immediately got from [your book] Black Cloud —we’re writing about the same place but it’s not the place of most people who live there. It’s Misfits shirts and threesomes and eyeliner rather than Chargers jerseys and bayside barbecues and sunscreen. I’ve been trying to figure that out all along. Why is a rich, clean, safe beach town so dark? Probably because the land was stolen from Mexico or maybe it’s a vampire town like in Lost Boys. Maybe it’s all the heroin and meth. Or because it’s a very expensive city and a lot of people can’t afford to live there and end up in these trashy, desperate situations. Bands like Prayers are doing well at the moment but San Diego’s punk scene was always very gothy. All of my friends were goth even if they didn’t know they were goth. It’s like the song goes: “The sunshine bores the daylights out of me.” I knew some Byronic motherfuckers in that town. A few months ago, you were telling me on chat that you’d recently visited Golden Hill–the neighborhood that so many of those bands once called home–and it had grown foreign to you. It used to be kind of run-down, and populated mostly by Latino families, but is now full of condos and hair salons. This kind of spit-shining has happened all over the county, and isn’t unique to San Diego. I feel like it’s happening in big cities everywhere — Brooklyn and San Francisco and Portland and Austin and Chicago. Is this one of the things that drove you to living on a farm in Kansas? How’d you end up there? It’s a big reason but mostly I wanted to live closer to the land and be left alone to write. It’s very hard some of the time to live rurally, as I’m sure you know, and almost always lonely, but I think it’s good for me. The big wild thunderstorms like we had last night, the quiet days, the rolling green hills, the chickens pecking in the grass … I love all of that from a very deep and fundamental piece of my heart. Can you tell me more about farm life? What do you guys grow? Are you anywhere close to self-sufficient? What does a normal day look like for you? What are some of the things that living on a farm has taught you? I love the idea of being self-sufficient but we’re far from it. At this point we’re still city kids fumbling around trying to make things work. But that’s important too. With rural life, maybe as with anything, fumbling’s how you learn. You screw up and maybe sometimes you get it right and then you learn from that too. I guess the thing I’ve learned most is how to improvise. How to take the little you have and succeed as best you can. You have to improvise and be flexible and thrive with the changing terrain, and by that I mean the terrain of your life, not physical terrain. But sometimes that too. Normal days? They start around 8am. First farm chores. Bring the dogs out into the lower field. Feed them. Feed the barn cats. Let the male goats and the sheep into the far field to graze. Put the ducks and the banty chickens out. Then open the shack where Edith, our female goat, lives with the full-sized chickens. They all go out to graze. I fill up a half-dozen water buckets for everyone, then it’s back inside. After that I work on my new book, which will take up a good part of the day. Sometimes we go out to the lake to swim (or watch the water snakes swim, which means we stay out of the water that day). Farm chores happen in reverse at dusk. Lately there’s a lot of thunderstorms and there’s nothing better than watching them roll in. Which is what I’m doing right now. I want to see some pictures of the cute animals and the pretty farm, please? I think The Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin’ Sad is really kind of an ingenious idea — a self-help book for people who otherwise wouldn’t read self-help books. (And considering it’s been the #1 small press bestseller at Powell’s for three years running, a lot of other people feel the same way.) Reading it made me wish I had come across it sooner, because a lot of the tips are things that I had to learn through a lot of pain and a lot of time and a lot of hard work. What motivated you to write it? Were you surprised at its popularity? I started writing that one because I was going through some awful, stupid stuff and I needed to take inventory of my life. I did that mostly with lists … well, lists and short notes-to-self. Had no idea it would take off. I feel lucky that it’s resonated with people to that degree. Fiction is what I want to do but I think stuff like Big Sad might be more important. The “good deed” (in the Boy Scout sense) of my life or something to that effect. Still weird to me that my notes to keep myself from blowing my brains out have become this huge thing with so many printings. Locust House plays around with point of view a lot, inhabiting the minds of four different young people: a group of three friends (all told in first person), and then Agnes, who is grieving the recent death of the closest thing she knows to a parent (told in third). What was the process of figuring out you had to tell this story this way? I wanted there to be a lot of people in my story because at the very base level it’s a book about a wild, fun party, and lonely parties are something else (though most parties are lonely in their own way, which is another topic altogether). The first version I mapped out was going to have the characters Joey Carr, Ted Boone, the street corn seller whose name I forget, the pregnant woman in the laundromat (who was never named but is an ex-girlfriend of Joey Carr that shows up in my book Caveworld ), Marcos the Halloween store employee, Agnes’ boyfriend Steven Boone and her cousins, the priest at the funeral, the drug dealer who’s only mentioned in the second act but shows up in Caveworld … some fictionalized band members would have first person sections too, and then there would be a fourth act before the epilogue that was one sentence from 316 different people at the party told years later or as stream of consciousness in the present (like Molly Bloom in Ulysses ). But that would have been obnoxious and probably impossible to do well. A few of those bits made it into Frankie’s section where she’s listening to the people talk as they leave the party but that was as far as it went, thankfully. Each of my books has had a crazy, ill-advised version I’ve either abandoned before writing or cut afterward. Originally Caveworld was 1,500 pages with 40-page transcriptions of phone conversations between the characters and a lot of drawn-out sex scenes and massive encyclopedic sections of California history and a whole interior book (an intentionally poorly-written supermarket pulp biography) about the writer Ed Distler but I wised up and cut it down to something like 350 or whatever it ended up at. (I think that version exists somewhere in my shelves. I should get rid of it.) It’s like Bob Seger sang in “Against the Wind,” that bit about “What to leave in, what to leave out.” He also said he wished he didn’t know now what he didn’t know then. That’s good too. I walked past Bob Seger once on a street in Tokyo. He was literally three times the size of me. I think that’s an improper use of the word “literally” but that’s how big he was. He was a monster like Lou Ferrigno or Thomas Wolfe or Andre the Giant. My gut reaction was “Kill the monster!” Pitchforks, torches. What’s the book you’re working on now? I’ve been working on a longer novel for about two and a half years. I’m thinking it will be done, at least ready to edit, by the end of the year. Right now I’m kind of punching above my weight with it so it may take longer. Might do another slim book like Locust House and give it another couple years. It’s a very ambitious idea, this one, and maybe a bit too difficult for my current skills but I’m going for it and working hard every day. As far as virtues go, the virtue in hard work is satisfying and strong and feels good at the end of the day. I want to get better with each new thing I release and with this one I’m hoping to take a giant leap forward. As cheesy and dated as this sounds, I want to write the Great American Novel and I’m going to get there or die trying. Of course I know I won’t actually die because of writing a book but I guess there are other kinds of deaths when you push yourself too far. Irrelevance, burn-out, loss of audience, loss of the essential perspective it takes to write truthfully, something like that. I don’t know if I’ll get where I want to go but I’m going to try like hell. The Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin' Sad by Adam Gnade. Honey Slides – Cassette tape Adam Gnade & Youthmovies. Simple Steps to a Life Less Shitty NEW BOOK EDITION. Float Me Away, Floodwaters (book) This Is the End of Something But It's Not the End of You (book) Locust House: A Novella. The Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin Sad book. Just the Books package deal. TEN PACK of the Do-It-Yourself Guide to Fighting the Big Motherfuckin' Sad book. Big Sad audio book. Everything Everything Mega-Pack. All Four Tapes, Package Deal. TULPA LUNA w/ Adam Gnade – Clear vinyl 7" TULPA LUNA w/ Adam Gnade TULPA LUNA w/ Adam Gnade. Voicemails from the Great Satan – Voicemails from the Great Satan cassette tape Adam Gnade & Demetrius Francisco Antuña. NEW PURPLE This is the End of Something But It's Not the End of You masks. DIY Guide to Fighting Big Sad THE T-SHIRT! Float Me Away, Floodwaters THE BOOK COVER ART SHIRT. Adam Gnade hand-painted and embroidered hats. "Everyone Good is Necessary" rubberstamp set. 3" by 3" Hello America Stereo Cassette magnet. Let the Assholes be Assholes poster. "Winter Won't Take Me" print. "Take the Place of Your Heroes" poster. Warning: If You Try to Create Something "Different" poster. Hello America Stereo Cassette 3-button set. Adam Gnade "Acamonchi" button. Nathaniel Kennon Perkins 1" pin. Youthmovies 1" button. Nicole Morning 1" pin. Adam Gnade "Cure" button. Float Me Away, Floodwaters four-pin set. Hello America Stereo Cassette button. Shopping cart. Check out. about. Adam Gnade's (guh nah dee) work is released as a series of books and records that share characters and themes; the fiction writing continuing plot-lines left open by the self-described "talking songs" in an attempt to compile a vast, detailed, interconnected, personal history of contemporary American life. His work is released by Pioneers Press and Three One G. . more.