Wastrel Rips & Devil-May-Care Madness, by Nicholas Viglietti

Poetry, chapbook, 44 pages, from Bottlecap Features.

On the flip of these pages are the wastrel rips, the long winds, and short ends that arrive at the quick of it. Some precise angles, some perverse glitz; even some eloquent notes, and some bizarre, cringy crawlin’ truths up the spine of humanity’s existence. Nicholas wrote, and gleaned these perceptions of heartbeats, out on his rambles from the hoods to the back-woods.

He’s lived like a bear with his house on his back, and seen vast peaks of jagged desolation. He’s slithered up all the creepy bayous, for the dark truths of this nation, and world. He’s been lost at sea; lonely, desperate, and the human condition will always desire perseverance – once that’s achieved it looks for love to set itself free.

That’s the essence of these rippers, the pulse, the drive, that keeps a dilapidated desperado chasin’ the insouciant gleam of dying horizon lines. That flash of universal beauty that compels any laggard of love to sit in the still, layback and feel the pure grooves of their spirit, repine a crooked smile, and howl laughter like a lone coyote at the lousy minstrels of misery that can’t accept the fact the we are all brief breaths, and the soul won’t be trapped by restrictions of this temporal world.

Nicholas Viglietti is a writer from Sacramento, CA. After Katrina ravaged the gulf coast, he rebuilt homes there for 2 years. Up in Mon-tucky, he cut trails in the wilderness. He pedaled from Sac-town to S.D. He’s a seventh-life party-hack, attempting to rip chill lines in the madness.