Dear Galvanauskas (AKA Emile G.),
It has been a long time since hearing from you & I query why? I fear that you don’t love me anymore, and if that is the case, I shall be forced to write a country western song about my embittered feelings. Every patron of every honky tank in America will then know of your betrayal. I know of course there must be a more logical explanation. Perhaps you are all tangled up in a sticky mind web that you have created; backed yourself into it, ensnared, waiting for the scorpion’s sting. Or maybe your eyes are curdled and bloodshot from having read Ecco’s treatise on Semi-OptiKs [sic], so that you can no longer see to put pen to paper. Or could it be that after witnessing some heinous act in an adult bookstore you have been scarred mute like Miss Latimer.
I urge you to once again revel in our bonding in earnest. Amuse me with your knuckle-headedness. Frighten me with your Quafian vision of lapdog students worshipping at your altar. Plan & dream with me of White Mtn. spring thaw.
I found Betrayals intriguing but somehow overwrought by its own stylistic challenges. While I took up the scimitar of being a Phallic reader with zest, I got a little bored through parts particularly chapters 8 & 9. What do they have to do with anything, did I miss the connection with earlier stories? Each I thought unnecessary and exceedingly dull. I would have been happy to go from the very gripping chapter 7 right into the final chapter in book review form. Overall, quite wittily British and fun.
Umbriate Press Poetry 