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Your Face Is A Forest, by Rhyd Wildermuth

Reviewed by P. Sufenas Virius Lupus

Rhyd Wildermuth’s Your Face Is A Forest (Seattle:, 2014) is a collection of what I can only describe as poetic prose: yes, it is (technically!) “non-fiction,” that most useless catch-all category of writings that means something is either uninteresting enough, overly factual, or sufficiently old enough to be classified as such, but the quality of the prose is something else entirely. . . .

Rhyd said in a recent interview. . .in reference to his own writing style, “I prefer an older-style of prose, with longer sentences and contorted structure and archaic words that don’t play well on a hand-held screen on a bus commute to work.”

On the one hand, I entirely agree with his statement that the sorts of writings that Rhyd produces work much better in a more “traditional” format rather than being read on a digital screen, for all sorts of reasons, and not just my own luddite tendencies. (And, I’ll note on the side here that all of the people who comment on various writings which Rhyd has done which are available on the internet, and feel the need to point out that his use of digital media is “contributing to the problem” that he also criticizes and that he is therefore some sort of hypocrite–well, fuck off and get a more original argument, and do us all a favor and quit writing on the internet at all, because at least what he writes makes people think and gives enjoyment rather than what you’re writing.)

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