The Whirligig: Pulp with a Pulse

by Frank J. Marcopolos. Issue 5. Frank J. Marcopolos, 4809 Avenue N, No. 117, Brooklyn, NY 11234.

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This is not for those of you who masturbate at the drive-in or in the drive-thru at McDonalds (well maybe). But better this is for those of you, dear readers, who ride elephants off the Alps and descend upon the washed and combed puny pony poodles of Rome (and places like the University of Iowa), with pen sword in grip cutting the falling bodies of professors and poets in sandals with white socks and drinking their blood mixed with Queen-O. Loki and Odin wrestle the frost giants to get their hands on each new issue of The Whirligig. This issue is the wine of Homer and Whirligig is the cup that Christ will not allow to empty. After reading this issue of Whirligig, I imagined that I was a US cavalry private, captured by Apaches in a black and white movie, circa 1958, and I was tied down, shirtless, over an ant hill, with my bindings of buckskin soaked in water, so that when the broiling hot Arizona sun rose and climbed towards noon, my wrists would open and spill my blood on the sand and provide a banquet for mice and fire ants and vultures. Damn - Frank Marcopolos is Lord of Editors! This issue is a festival and Poe would weep big tears of lusty fog just to hold for a second the power of Whiligig and start with Ann Sterzinger’s prose work: “A Beautiful Son.”

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