i was born in a

'59 plymouth belvedere,

cream top, tan bottom,

after a snow storm

on west federal street, youngstown, ohio,

saint valentine's day,

1960

Life is a wringer washer set on spin; constant motion. Time could be an abstract element or time can be concrete. Contradiction can baffle or affirm belief. We are what we believe and we are not. We are all mineral and silica and water and salt and fire. We are that shiny film that leaves a radiant trail caught in sunlight behind a snail. Truth is transitory. Nothing is dogma. . . We are here on this plane in an effort to find balance, to grope around the crawl space that is the human mind, to search and investigate, realize, navigate, create and communicate or to accept the fate. We cannot recognize what the inner voice is saying; our voice. Misunderstanding is the child of confusion. Life is an accident waiting to happen. There is no coincidence. . . Life is a wringer washer. . . Life is a wringer washer. . . Life is a wringer washer. . .