Love. Violence. A shoulders’ width apart at terror’s doorway. At any moment, sudden death, or illumination, or spontaneous orgasm, are all possible here.
Bridges reads like a serial run of timeline postcards, a visual diary peppered with bits of magnetic poetry-constructed prose, voiced by an impressionable kid.
Rachael Almada undertook the Herculean task of compiling thousands of tales, half-truths, and poignant remembrances from rock’n’roll bands touring the planet.
Richard Kostelanetz does an admirable job in pulling together a cohesive representation of Philip Glass through the individual collective of the critic’s eye.
An interior designer, a donut shop manager, a creepy woman in a white BMW with child in tow, and a pair of gay hit men smuggling weapons in their golf bags…
Strings together a zitherscope of oral remembrances and photographs of a generation of once-unknowns who would grow to rule the cultural empires of the world.
“The only light was somewhere in the back room. No noise. She came out with a hypo, hit herself on a fleshy part of her upper arm, and pushed the plunger.”