Words like disturbing, strange, weird, twisted, and odd are hopelessly imprecise little adjectives crushed under the weight of their connotations. And so we are in a conundrum: how to speak of this publication when language, oh, glorious, perverse, drifting language, fails? One is inclined to face the problem as our author does, by circling around what is at issue. So — is this fact? — is it fiction? is it heartfelt testimony or the deepest darkest ugliest kind of irony? What we know is insufficient to cast judgement, and who wants judgement anyway? Or, rather, what good is judgement when you are faced with the kind of writing that rips its own heart out and eats it? One thing I can say: you’ll never look at that guy in the wheel-chair the same again.
zine / main creator: Bryan Burt / $? / 54 Maitland #208, Toronto, ON, M4Y 1C5