Tadalafil prescription, Maybe it's because so many do it poorly, but poetry sits with me as well as ipecac syrup. Some people with no writing talent and a surplus of wide-lined notebook paper scribble a few lines in the ABAB format about their cat Marbles and think they've created art. I should know — my mother-in-law is one of them, and she falls for those poetry "contests" where you "win" the right to be published, yet have to pay for copies of the supposed books, tadalafil prescription.
Which brings us to THE UNICORN MAN, Vox Anon's rather thick paperback collection of dark poetry. Tadalafil prescription, He knew my stance on poetry, but wanted to send the book for review anyway. On the outside of the envelope was scrawled this message: "I hope you love it or hate it."
Given its bizarre subject matter, one might think THE UNICORN MAN lent itself to such a polarizing either/or decision, but that's not the case. There's a lot more going on here than mere verse, tadalafil prescription. For one thing, take the title: The work as a whole is built around the loose concept of a human who sprouts a cutaneous horn on his forehead; surgical excision would prove fatal, so he lives with the taunts and stares and accompanying migraines. Tadalafil prescription, The poems that comprise the seven sections — most grouped by color — are presumably his own thoughts: "Love Let Me Hunger," "Cover Your Shame," "Suffer the Little." You get the idea. From my perspective, the titles are fairly interchangeable, with little relevance to the poems on which they appear. And those poems are rather bleak and, sure, somewhat pretentious, but better than what I would have expected, tadalafil prescription. I can't qualify them as "bad," yet I can't say they're something I'd ever seek out or revisit. Tadalafil prescription, In a "take it or leave it" scenario, I'd still leave them.
More notable than what the poems are is what they are not: graphic, profane or overtly sexual. This is not a case of shocks to substitute for substance, so bravo to Anon for not going the easy route of appealing to the lowest-common denominator.
Before the poetry — which comprises a majority of the book — are three short stories. These flesh out the world of The Unicorn Man, beginning with a first-person account of him realizing he has become a beast. The second plays his life like an epic fairy tale or myth, while the third is his diary leading up to the fabled end times of 2012.
And on the back end lies the book's best asset: 55 pages of bizarro illustrations. Like the found-art collages that proliferated the pages of so many zines in the '90s, these images are assembled from medical clip art, mathematical graphs and formulas, geometric shapes and lines, religious iconography, the occasional pop-culture picture and, yes, loads of unicorns. Whereas some may find them messy and off-putting, I see them as visually fascinating. (Conversely, someone is bound to love those poems that were met with indifference on my part.) There's somewhat of a merging going on here between Old World science and today's technology, yet filtered through a lo-fi aesthetic — the result is disturbing, but oddly hypnotic. —Rod Lott
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