Born after a stray bullet fired during a bank robbery went through a my father's testicles and embedded itself in my mother's womb. I came out iron-hard and the seven pediatricians that followed all entered the Order of St. Francis, trembling with rosary.
I followed railroad lines from Cleveland to Boston to Dulles to Bradenton to Amarillo to San Francisco to Seattle and slept in the moon.
Found a love to wander with, so now we sleep on the ground when we can and kick the bed-covers off at night when that grand moon is adequate hearth.
making chamber orchestras employing instruments made from junkyard riflings: made a percussive, windwood pieceout of an automobile horn, a mason jar, rainwater and toothbrush bristles. Another piece was made of strands of hair from an octogenarian's brush glued at various stress levels to a walking stick with wings of a dead butterfly drilled on either side for it's own percussive quality when the wind is kicking up.
writing poems, novels, short stories, plays, musical compositions of the visions seen: whatever medium they beg to be explained, is employed.
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