About the Author

am a
drive on
pbs without
any guests to
go to and no one
behind me at the phones

guy who
cant give a
hot dog away
in times square at
rush hour on the day
after the last day of lent.

ga joob

methreemy parents apparently met before i was born. many odd occurrences ensued.

at the age of two i was, for some reason, given a crayon. within two weeks i had learned the alphabet.

in two more weeks i was eager to tackle my first novel. unfortunately i was very poor, and could not afford paper until 1995, some twenty three years later.

in those years i was restricted to drawing and writing on my clothes, around electrical sockets, and upon sugar packets. i held on to that first crayon until i was fifteen, and finally able to beat up little kids for chalk.

i built my first guitar, a one string self electrocuting menacing placenta of ill thought technology that never had a chance of being near tune, out of a stradivarius i borrowed from a museum and bits of old smoke alarms.

more will be revealed as it becomes apparent…

© Robert Emmett McWhorter

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