"The neck that was once a wrist, choked on a wishbone made from a sliver of moonlight, which manifested itself as a seeing eye on the back of the hand that was just like a cheery fireplace on the back of a skull that became a house. Blue sapphire icicles were cried out of this synthetic eye, evoking the cold appearance of a dark witch who kept her animals in cages, who moved her freight elevators up, just like she went down on her dumb waiters, and who sliced off the heads of infidels expecting the interior of their bodies to be an emerald honeycomb of light that would weep strange songs." The Midnight Blade of Sonic Honey is the pairing of a surrealist novel and an automatic text that were written nearly seven years apart but which tell the same story, albeit as complementary permutations of each other. Dripping with bile and centered within a gothic sensibility, this journey opens the reader's skull like a freshly cracked coconut.