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As soon as I start reading Alan Lastufka’s perzine, I can see why his writing would be considered controversial enough to be kept out of the school paper, and his ideas subversive enough for him to be called into the principal’s office: after all, those are rather raw emotions expressed here, and that is something we try to discourage in teenagers. Years have passed since graduation, Lastufka tells us, and this might be the reason why the musings here seem like half-finished thoughts: perhaps they are simply half-remembered realities. The stories pack a punch, however, and though I smile at words such as ‘mathletes,’ the concept fills my smiling mouth with a bitter taste. Lastufka sends dead leaves through the mail; a friend of mine had once been delighted to receive a large parcel full of tumbleweed and to this day, I hang on to my dead roses like religious icons and hang them up to dry, to be forever cherished and associated with precious moments. I understand the birth of sentimentality, and shoeboxes overflowing with faded memories. I am sorry the wedding ring had to be returned. Couldn’t you guys work things out? (Andree Lachapelle)

Alan Lastufka PO Box 254 Manhattan, IL 60442

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