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ST. TABBY THE MAD
Memento puerili et puellae...
DEVORO! DEVORO! DEVORO! DEVORO! DEVORO!
..
..THIS IS A MINDFUCKED PROFILE.
BUT I AM A REAL PERSON[S].
WHO ARE YOU?
..Ringmaster of Wordplay, joker, sadist, arsehole, canonized Saint of Discordia,
literary scientist, Carrollian, part-time whovian, part-time wino, nihilist, psychopath, unintentional pariah, and aspiring, soi disant, fiction writer— a postmodern black comedy is TBA.
UNREPENTANT MINDFUCKER!
Yadda, yadda, yadda.
"A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language."
—W. H. Auden
I love words.
I am words.
I shoot my fountain pen load
all over the fontal face of words.
Words are the keys to the garden gate of Pysche,
and words are the keys to Psyche's chastity belt.
Words are my power,
my tool, my weapon,
my seduction.
My pen is a hot screwdriver, twisting your brain, my love, my loves,
my angels, my demons,
my muses.
"The poet's fingers are wild;
you cannot tame them."
—Kaiser Soze (Poet Henbane)
Diversity is the sickness. Diversity is the chill in the windswept metropolis. We love and hate through the rain-soaked fabric of our collective consciousness. Fabric, soft. Fabric, hard. Fabric speaking in reflecting shards. The vase is broken: but look, look, look. (Where?! Over there! No, over here! Stop shouting!)
..
"That's not the size of my hat...
It's the size of my thingamajig!"
—Mad Hatter, Alice in Wonderland (1976)
St. Tabby's page is best viewed with your eyes,
FACTS
* A lot of people don't trust me.
* Whoever you are, wherever you are, there's more than a good chance you're too normal compared to me.
