Praise for TEXTURESs: "So it begins, book-objects emerging from the Covid-19 UK lockdown and beyond. Artbook. Yes. That word. I pause. I like it. Gordon Lish famously said literature is retrograde. Why are we not trying harder? Zak Ferguson is. [Text] in TEXTURESs is immanent... already there. Bugger all images. Even the text is an image. Hieroglyphics of HTML. The negative space of text. Negentropic text. Keywords emerge: auto-fact, auto-fiction, IKEA meatballs, channel 3, channel 4, loneliness, boredom, vacant lots, tin-foil cocks, bubble-gum girls, ruins. Yes, ruins. Lish also said: You don't even have to make it up! The opening & closing of a laptop computer... like a giant clam! This is Brighton, after all. And Eastbourne. The grunt-groans of existence are here. Existence as a cut-up experience. This book claims to be an accident. It is. A big, beautiful fucking accident. Like the Universe itself. Electronic waste. E-waste. TEXTURESs reminds us everything is made of particles. Box text. Text in boxes. Language prisons. Good luck, pal. A writer reading a writer is something, eh? A writer reading a writer reading a writer... probably what you are doing right now. Am I right, pal? John Trefry famously said he is okay with Inside the Castle books only being read by other writers. That is what you have here. Zak Ferguson makes me want to write. TEXTURESs makes me want to write. Makes me want to "fuck around" with text. Echo chambers. Chambers without echoes. The anechoic chamber in Minneapolis is purportedly the "quietest place on the planet." TEXTURESs is screaming. Zak Ferguson is screaming. Hear my tell-tale heart, indeed. Life is a rough draft. I still don't know what the fuck Nietzsche means by eternal return. What I do know: TEXTURESs by Zak Ferguson makes me