We’re pleased to present the dedication reveal for Brian Allen Carr’s forthcoming Bad Foundations, due out from Clash Books in January 2024. S.A. Cosby described the novel as “a raw and ferocious journey into the heart of the working class.” Read on to see Carr’s dedication — and some thoughts from him on why the book has the dedication that it does.
I have two white daughters who love the fuck out of Taylor Swift.
I’m not alone in this.
In June, my wife and oldest daughter saw T-Swift perform in Cincinnati, and the city was overwhelmed with caucasian, female Swifties, draped in various costumes of tribute, each, presumably, broadcasting an aesthetic championed by their hero in one of her “eras.”
My wife, during the concert, texted me: this is a cult.
And when I picked them up afterward, the throngs of those vacating Paycor Stadium seemed emotionally spent, spiritually cleansed, abdicated from some higher calling.
Most of the females exiting the show were the progeny of some dude, and online there were scads of videos showcasing flocks of middle-aged man-homies waiting doe-eyed for their Swift-fan children and partners, and they all (we all?) looked vulnerable as fuck—lost to the world.
I get it. I have a deep, working-class ethos. I only really care about two things: my work and my family.
Take one of those things away, and watch it crumble. It’s like Robert Greene says, “No structure can stand long when it rots from within.”
For the past three years, I worked in the foundation repair industry. I worked in the foundation repair industry for two primary reasons. 1) I can make way more money in foundation repair than I can teaching higher education. 2) I can get a job in foundation repair anywhere in the country, and my family wants to live in Indiana.
I am from Texas, and all true Texans hope to live their whole lives in Texas, but being a father is about sacrifice, so I live in the midwest, where it fucking snows.
One of the things I sacrifice is time. One of the things I sacrifice is geography. But the main thing I sacrifice is money.
Two tickets to T-Swift (thanks to Ticketmaster, StubHub, and all others involved in the live-event ticket monopoly of our late-capitalist hellscape) cost $1,300. Sure, they were $80 dollar tickets, originally. But, like most motherfuckers, I couldn’t get tickets from the company that sells tickets. I had to get tickets from the people who sell tickets that were bought from the people who sell tickets.
Um. . . fuck y’all.
But, listen, I don’t hate the players, I hate the game. Can’t cast shade at T-Swizz, gotta shake that shit off and respect her for what she is: a billionaire who my children idolize, and, let’s be fair, if they have to idolize someone, I’d rather them idolize a boss.
Here is how we idolize people in America: we buy their shit.
My house is filthy with Swift swag and my kids dress in Swift-branded clothing.
I have no idea how much money my household spends to pay tribute to Taylor, but it’s not a small amount.
My latest book Bad Foundations is a gonzo journalism look at foundation-repair life. Moving forward, our society will be intriguing. There aren’t enough houses for future generations to own. In order to help safeguard future families, an industry is emerging to combat the effects of climate (changed or not) on American properties.
You have to fix a house today, to house a family tomorrow.
My kids don’t give a shit about that, though. My kids only care about Taylor Swift.
So, as an homage to much of my collective family’s motivations, I dedicated the book, and presumably my book royalties, to Swift.
I have no idea what kind of royalties I’ll make on the project (the most I’ve gotten off a book in total is around $10,000) but I do know that a good chunk of my disposable income goes to a blonde-headed celebrity who may or may not fly her plane around too much.
A friend of mine asked me, “Is it like a publicity stunt? Are you doing it for attention?”
Absolutely. Who gives a shit? I’m not proud. I’m just a piece of American art garbage who writes books, fixes houses, pays for my family’s bullshit, and dedicates things to Taylor Swift.
It’s 2023, and I live in America, and almost everything anyone does is for something like clout.
So, clout me up, fuckers. The more clout I have, the more money I get to spend on Taylor Swift, and the more money I get to spend on Taylor Swift the better the father I am.
I mean, not really, but in America, in 2023, how else could you show it?