I was born in the desert, year of the coyote…….they came to Mojave to lay where the long, anemic fingers of dawn gently sundered the curtains of a silent room filled with all the faith & devotion of a beguiled, fatuous world. Forlorn in obscurity and cast into the waiting arms of Neptune where I slept for four centuries in a place where time is spirit. I awoke to write the gospel of time and space. In the silence of my mind I began to hear things as they were meant…….I was vexed with dead philosophy and confidence games……I saw my past sacrificed like a stupid, smelly animal on a greasy altar in the dumbfuck moonlight. I felt made of dust taken from a city dump. I had wasted time believing in heroes…..most of which were dead anyway.