A Retrospective Look at What He Did After He Committed Suicide
The blankness of the pages is what I felt most while reading Evason’s poetry, trying by inclination to get a little into the psyche of “I” (the narrator), and coming up with a blank. I was not empty-handed, however. There was a limp tension present, maybe even a disinterested play on the dialectic of master and slave, where the overcompensated whiteness of the page is the one saving grace, leaving the reader in a frustratingly dreamy mood. Even the Pope is told “to tell the people that masturbation is okay”. (PVP)