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explorations in writing

3 March 1963
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I am faux artist, imbued with unusable genetic mutations, that enhance me with powers no one cares about...like, the ability to enjoy white noise. I am shortish, and am odd presence: physically normal looking, bland, yet intense. I oscillate between near-invisibility, and obnoxious charisma. Charming, yet mildly repulsive, in a beautiful way. Longish hair, olderish ex-punknewave cowboy flatlander with no urge to go back home. The only one, it seems, who made it out this far west, except for my sister, who lives in Calgary.
Gleeful DIYer who makes his own stuff, out of this and that, a faux master at drawing beauty out of junk, most of which is on my hotrod of a chopper bike. Oh, I suppose I could throw somehting in about creative mucking about, which is what I do. Much about, creatively. I tend to work best when things go sideways from the ridiculously detailed plans I had in mind, forcing me to improvise.
I can sing rather well, but no one really knows, due to my deliberate hideous vocals when I started a band called Puke Theatre, which I occasionally threaten to revive one day.
aimless bike rides, ancient doodads, backrubs, bad haircuts, beer, being licked, blank stares, booty, cake, cats, comics, cop rock, crashed ufo's, culture jamming, dead businesses, dead ufo's, decay, deviant satori, dinosaurs, dogs, doodling, fnord, fuschia, gerbils, gyrating, harmonicas, icecream, ill-fitting suits, licking, mars, meta-normal thingies, meta-rants, metajamming, metaphysical bullshit, mutant bikes, noise, pawnshop paintings, purple, rocks, rust, sci-fi, shiny things, strip chess, trailer parks, troma films, unfeasible ideas, useless technology, weird westerns