The wildman is back again, with a new collection that tries to scar your retinas when you're not looking. He captures the inner-city madness in WILD KINGDOM, and leaves you sitting there breathless, recovering from an act of random love that proved to be too intense. He screams about "Yuppies whose wine cellars are worth more/ than the gross national product of Africa,/ who can't drive and talk on the phone at the same time/ and insist on doing both at 60 miles an hour./ The secretaries who dream of marrying them/ and probably deserve to." He screams about "Bike messengers burning in a never ending/ adrenalin crazed fit,/ filthy hummingbirds moving/ fifty times as fast as the world around them/ in a never ending race to/ overtake a shrinking paycheck/ and an expanding rent bill/ until they spontaneously combust and blow up/ on the hood of your car." And this is just the beginning, the wildman keeps on going, pushing you further into his reality until you are so overwhelmed all you can do is sit knowing if you ever stand up again there's a possibility that you might die. I am impressed by Kassell's work. He knows his turf, when he gets cut up he doesn't care who he splatters the blood on--he splatters you every time you leap into another line, and leaves you showing off the psychological scars once you've completed another round. This is what it is all about.--oberc
This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #3,
Contact the editor, luigi-bob drake, at Burning Press
Copyright Burning Press 1993, 1995.