Self Portrait

Fertilized as an egg, the author gestated and larvaed
in Northern Ohio. He was a pupa in a Toledo high
school when, overcome with the urge to eat paper, he
sprouted wings. This gigolo ant then moved, under
cover of parenthetical night, to Key West, where he
lunched on Palm and Pine. Leaving a trail of
abbreviated epics, our libidinous six-Iegger finally
made his way to the fabled New York City, home of
then Mayor Ed Koch-an insect’s best friend. As a
young adult, the author eeked out a living, surviving
on sheetrock and pressboard. He was as lonely as a
crab. Ten years later: toothless, hairless and wingless,
the author found an eight-Iegged woman in whose
web he spun numerous yarns of the glistening
surrealist and strident dada-ist variety, to the
annoyance of all.

Today, the author works as a counselor to victims of
ordinary experience in the popular New York City
mental health care system. Concerning himself with
the endless, and eternal, struggle of Love v. alienation,
the author continues to prescribe abbreviated and
(parenthetical) epics to anyone who will listen, while,
concurrently, agitating for equal rights for workers on
ant farms everywhere.