by no means anything more than a humble novice, with not a metric measurement of formal training, there is a certain chest-puffing gratification in turning incoherent dribble into dribble which rhymes.
the poems are inspired in part by constructed memories diluted through the lens of pop-culture with political, philosophical and theoretical undertones liberally saturated by the heady influence of socially mediated imagery and noises.
to help me out and slow down my rather over-stimulated (post?) post-modern mind i've enlisted the aid of a rather smart orange 1970s-ish contessa typewriter.
despite her fiery temperament which results in a tangled mess when striking the keys with a little too much enthusiasm, i think we'll get along just fine.
it has also served to highlight my unfortunate dependence on autocorrect and the squiggly red underline.
so here's to
