I've since contacted four other writers.
It seems I wasn't the only one caught out by Gartland's master salesman trick.
They all received the exact same email.
With the exact fake address.
And asked to wire the cash, preferably 'yesterday.'
'He was charming as fuck and kind of cornered me,' said victim one.
'He promised the cashback after one month, with interest, ten percent. Fuck he was so convincing,' said victim two.
'If only he had been honest about it, 'I need the cash for whores and crack and I have no intention of paying you back,' I would have given him the cash. But because he didn't, I didn't loan the fucker a cent,' said 'almost' victim three.
'I gave him my contacts, cash, more contacts, and bent over backward for him. What I got in return was a backbiting poem about my short fallings,' said victim four who encouraged me to tell the truth.
And what would that be?
'That he's a fucking asswipe of the highest order.'
Not everyone hates the 'poet noir'.
Chad Evans has this to say:
'Mr. Gartland has achieved a critical mass of aesthetic production as a mature writer recently which begs worldwide attention. The angry beauty of his poetry both clashes with the world order and takes us away from earthly madness to a better albeit darkly lit space.'
It's obvious Chad hasn't been fucked over by Gartland yet.
