Howard Wuelfing | Dec 01, 1995 | Comments 1 |
BRAINLIFT by Tricia Warden
By Howard Wuelfing
Dec 1, 1995, 12:50
BRAINLIFT by Tricia Warden; 2.13.61 Publications, 1995
Fucking modernism. Where amateurs try and pass off half-baked, haphazard writing as deconstruction, or spontaneity. i.e. Tricia Warden in her collection of po'ms, Brainlift. Tricia Warden apparently is content to gut-spew pure and simple; she's turned out a jumble that seems jumbled because the poetess couldn't be bothered to invest it with a coherent poetic vision or style; she felt that her impulses and fleeting impressions were worthy of readers' time and attention as is. Ms. Warden clicks off hurried, unfocussed, spur of the mo' snapshots of everything icky, nasty and shocking to her; her only commentary thereon pronunciation of its ickiness, nastiness and shockadelicism. Her only solution, poetically, to accept with private revulsion. At a certain point however, you learn to take control over your life, make choices; that criticism is most profitably leveled at oneself. But what are the choices? Alternatives? Is there beauty? Is there strength? Power (over the self)? Peace? Brainlift doesn't have any of the answers; it doesn't even raise the questions. If you're scared, confused and clueless, you're better off reading this than bodysurfing at a Bad Religion show to discharge frustrated energy and exit from the mundane, Lilliputian world for a while. But it ain't me, babe. No, no, no.
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