While another juvenile, “coming of age” autobiographical chapbook is one of the last things the world really needs – where the author is convinced that they are a special one-of-kind snowflake who’s spoiled, cry-for-help story is somehow unique – at least Gabriel Hart spared us all by waiting till he was almost forty-years old before he wrote his first one.In “Cinema of Life” musician, writer, and L.A. expatriate Hart briefly chronicles the severing of his own plot in that sinister city with a permanent evacuation to the high desert, concluding with a rare deep breath of high-pressure flatulence that can only be released when one turns himself this far inside-out.
