PRESSURE PRESS ARCHIVE

RETICULATED DAYS IN THE LIVES OF A REGULAR MAN 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17       CHAPTER 17 Cheryl Townsend's new book is titled "Meanderings", & it's one of her best yet. She's finally involved in the craft beyond the voice of sexual seduction. "Meanderings" is a new plateau in Cheryl's karmic discoveries of delight. Females are quite adept at the Mind-Fuck, the mental conspiracies against the onslaught of bursting tadpole glandular sperm-puppies wiggling without legs thru clear vaginal mud; water-tight doors slam down dams of intention; rivulet rises into a consequence of lake, an ocean conclusion, galactic soup as black as disgust. The opening & the closing of legs, whisper & scream, kiss & bite, smile & weepage, serenity & evil will, love & tongue in the cunt. She's matured. She continues to remind me I told her she was writing shit once. I have a habit of pissing Cheryl off. I wldn't be surprised if she, one day, hits me, a giant round-house upper-cut lifting me & splattering my jaws. Her writing is the preparation & eventual Emergency Room bandages. She carries cuffs. She works as a store detective in a major department chain, & once broke her wrist wrestling with a thief. There's a funny story about her hand-cuffs & Kurt Nimmo at The Barking Spider Bar in Cleveland after a reading at some Art Gallery a gang of us went to in 1989 I believe. She's probably armed with a ruby-handled snub-nose. She probably has more stories to tell about us guys than any of us can remember, or recall; I've known her over a dozen years, & they've been wild years. She's a Poet who kicks ass. She satisfies with language surprises. She doesn't shit around. For long, anyhow.