Another new artzine out of Columbia, South Carolina, and it's packed with graphics and texts, the former substantially more far-out than the latter, which are mostly anecdotal near-prose; with bitter or sardonic punch-lines--like one poem, by Robert B. Howington, in which a woman joins the narrator in an elevator, after she stops the elevator and undresses; saying it makes her feel like a woman, the narrator undresses, too, but then hands his clothes to the woman and asks her to fold them.--Bob Grumman
This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #5,
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Copyright Burning Press 1994, 1996.