I have a cynic’s eye for irony, a poet’s ventricles coupled to a critic’s aorta, a selectively thick skin, a robust stomach and a pancreas of gold. I have gone diving in the Caymans, green-skinned in Austin, silent in wonder, and not quite to the dogs. I have a sharp wit which is unfortunately not displayed to full advantage when composing short autobiographical sketches.

I like reading imaginative literature, making machines work, sketching and sculpting, slow dancing, and cackling over human obduracy with select friends. I don’t like smoky bars, TV chatter, psychics, grim fanatics, and those who would trade freedom for false security, or trade upon the public’s tendency to do the same.

I write sonnets for people I’m wooing and nonsense verse for my inner shoggoth, and I compose puzzles for people I respect. I have a facility for picking up on patterns in speech, song and art, and replicating them. Parody delights me.