Was born November 1st, 1973 in the middle of freakin Virginia, and was raised for his first four years in the small town of Blackstone.   The family picked up and moved west, to another (probably even smaller) town called Princeton, in the heart of western Kentucky.  It was in Princeton that he wasted the majority of his formative years attending school (remember, this is Kentucky) and going to church WAY TOO regularly.   A good-'ole-boy without redneck predispositions, he was always a bit outside of the norm (also known as "a bit of a loser") since he didn't watch or participate in sports (unless coerced), get drunk, smoke weed, or fuck cows.  Princeton was a quaint little village that would make an agoraphobe head for New York.  But what did this bright young man do, you may well ask.  He went off to college... in Murray.
    Ahh... good ol' Murray State University, good ol' Murray Kentucky.  As if Princeton weren't bad enough, he had to go to college in one of the "retirement hotspots" of these contiguous United States.  The most popular, or rather, the only thing to do in Murray after 10:00pm was to go to the local Hardee's for late-night coffee and... roast beef. The most frightening thing was that he and his friends actually did.  They went almost every night.  Eventually their visits became so lucrative for the store that a complete remodeling job was undertaken, transforming the lowly, standard establishment into... "Rock 'N Roll Hardee's," complete with chrome, neon, and a rather large (no shit) Harley mounted on a dais in the middle of the freakin room.  This was where we hung out.
    Finally after four and a half years of this abuse, he was fed up, and ready to move on...  but didn't even make it out of the state.  He landed in Louisville, KY, and floundered for a while, trying to find a job that suited his tastes. He had one--at Hawley-Cooke Booksellers--but after the owners stuck their heads up their collective asses and replaced him as webmaster, he grew to dislike the stench. Now unemployed for over a month, he's finding that his principles are stickier than they should be, and he's gonna have to dump 'em, and soon.
    He is also a writer, poet, and sometime musician (with limited skills), who is the author of the first Savant-Garde Press title the Christ of my Confusion, which is on sale now (here), and at Hawley-Cooke.