I'm a naked virgin in Times Square. Obsolete are my proclivities toward rational drive.
My mother was a fourteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink; he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometiems he'd accuse chestnuts of being lazy; the sort of banal claimthat only the genius posses and the insane lament.
My childhood was typical: Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the Spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds; pretty standard, really.
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