Landscapes of You & Me | Reviews that Suck

1David and I met on Twitter – not, actually, through poetry posts but – through an argument I was having with some shit-head bible banger that was trying to convince people that they were right in their interpretation of Scripture. (Author’s Note: they weren’t.) I noticed he liked Bukowski, and had some Catholic Worker references on his profile so, of course, we buddied up. 

Even though I called for people to pimp their chaps, David never did. It was like pulling fucking teeth for him to link me some shit to read. Finally, after much harassing he shot me the link to his chap Landscapes of You and Me

Book Details

  • 5 x 8 in dimension.
  • 47 pages.
  • $10.44 price point.
  • Printed with Alien Buddha Press.
  • Cover art by Red Focks
  • Standard cardstock cover and glue binding — which did not crack.
  • Standard 20 lb weight paper, and 10 Garamond font (assuming).

This is another chap printed on Amazon publishing – through a press, not self-pressed – and I’ve described the cover, paper, print, and binding quality enough times that ya’ll know the fucking drill. 


The back of the book states that this is collection of love poems with some Taco Bell references and that I will want to drunk text my ex after reading it. (Incidentally, I’d really look into that … I’m guessing NO ONE wants to see my ass after eating Taco Bell, just sayin’.)


Having read some of David’s work in Outcast Press’ inaugural issue I was expecting something much different than what I got – something a little darker, a little crunchier. Needless to say, this collection came out of left field for me. 

Reading it is like being in the mind of a caffeinated toddler; a hyper-active rambling that stretches on into the unforeseeable future which gets slightly more absurd as you go on. And that is exactly its charm.  

Reading this filled me with a sense of nostalgia; a sort of hazy, teenage-summer-love sweetness that’s awash with the pinks and oranges of sunsets, but tinged blue at its edges with a sort of bittersweet loss. It brings me back to memories of days spent by the pool or the lake, the electric feeling of simply being close to the person you had a mega-crush on and that sense of subconscious urgency to memorize everything about the person before they move back home for the summer. 

Overall, I liked the collection. I didn’t LOVE it – it wasn’t earthshattering, ground breaking, stomp-your-feet-and-clap-your-hands-for-this-pussy kind of excellent. But it’s good. 

Given that I’ve seen David’s pieces in Outcast, as well as talked about his other pieces in private I want to say this: David, trust yourself and your writing — and take a risk with the wild shit.  I’m still waiting for that pissing poem, brother. 

Now, don’t be a genital wart, and go buy the shit.

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