CUNT
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CUNT, Scott Douglas' introspective look into understanding a friends suicide is written in his distinct style: delicate, lucid, and though very sad, reminds us all of the true strength of love. There are his apparent and the not so obvious glances into what might have been had his friend simply found love. In a fashion that is inimitably Scott Douglas, the world receives another book of prose. Once again, every page stands on its own. There is so much we find out about ourselves in a single word. Many times when we race to define what one word may mean we define ourselves. Who we are is often ...
CUNT, Scott Douglas' introspective look into understanding a friends suicide is written in his distinct style: delicate, lucid, and though very sad, reminds us all of the true strength of love. There are his apparent and the not so obvious glances into what might have been had his friend simply found love. In a fashion that is inimitably Scott Douglas, the world receives another book of prose. Once again, every page stands on its own. There is so much we find out about ourselves in a single word. Many times when we race to define what one word may mean we define ourselves. Who we are is often lost in the details or what we think about others. It's just a word. There was simply nothing about her or her name that defined who she was. Millions could have found her face if they had looked clearly. They had been searching all their lives for her but never saw her. Her name was not spoken. Her voice was not heard. She was lost in the definitions of others.
