The Unravelling Of An Invisible Elephant.

I was born to compose unsophisticated gibberatics, a continuous interpretation of some rhetorical persuasion quite glaringly outwith any specific context relevant to the utterance itself. It is this desire to put effect before structure that makes me insufficiently equipped to arrive at a knowledge of writing above that of banal chaotic negativity. It's assumed my natural diversity may resemble the tactics of a civil disobedience rather than a creative adjustment of the commodity we use like a fetish.

I'll never be educated enough to charm the world with juxtapositions lashed to every sentence in essayistic celebration nor agitated enough to graduate from armchair revolutionist to historical complexity. By the age of 10 I had won many regional essay writing awards, national poetry competitions and was voted local fiction writer of the year (aged 12 and under) by a panel of literary critics including the tremendously gifted wordsmith...Giles Brandreth!!??

(sigh) Fast forward about 30 years and here I am....still writing shite philosophical debris of incoherent disorientated absurdities. I make nobody seethe with envy for my bullshit literature. A plethora of rejection slips and discouraging reviews of my work keep me grounded. I am an oddity, a clumsy contemporary, accidental bookish balladeer.