It's the one book in my library I suggested my ex-wife never open. Its words and images are enough to cause PC readers convulsions of the highest order. It is badly written rage, hatred, disease courtesy of Randall Philip.
Tales of child sex abuse, images of deformed people and other transgressive surprises await inside. Philip, who lived in Philadelphia and was involved in all kinds of nefarious stunts, is an outsider among outsiders and his book proves why. It's not something easily digested, and nor should it be. But should it be taken seriously?
Yes and no.
There's no doubt in my mind that Philip is a dangerous individual. There's also no doubt that a lot of what he writes about is mere fantasy meant to be shocking in the most base way possible. He succeeds beyond measure, but it comes with a blow to his credibility.
This isn't a book you see on a lot of shelves, and I don't even know if it is in print anymore. I received it as a review copy many moons ago. I looked Philip up on the net recently and couldn't find much of anything either (though I didn't look too hard), so it's quite possible he's dead, in jail, or went on to change his name and form an acoustic hippie band. Either way, the book is out there, haunting readers with its child sex slaves and paranoia. Sublime art? Sick performance piece in written form? Delusional mind outlet? I don't know, but it's not for the innocent or even the tainted. Read at your own risk.
-Doug Brunell (America's Favorite Son)