the artist Born in middle of a hurricane, on the western edge of Western
Civilization (Vancouver Island). Educated in Europe, London, Paris,
Rome, all the best schools. While there, developed a drinking
problem. A close friend once described him as "the most frightening
drunk I know." Gave up drinking, sober ever since. Describes himself
as the living symbol of oppresion, considering his upper-middle class
heritage a personal cross to bear. Was in love once, with a young
doe-eyed, smart-weird, jewish waif from Toronto. They couldn't make it
work, even e-mail couldn't save them. She gave him his name, a product
of his fetish for Shakespeare.
the art He writes, types, scribbles, whatever you want to call it, his own
brand of surreal, subtext ridden, nihilistic metafiction. The word
postmodern is not in his vocabulary. In spite of semiotics, he
believes the search for meaning has no meaning. He's never been
published. Never expects to be. His unsympathetic characters, like his
sentences, are often only fragments. He survives on handouts from his
family and by planting trees.
the beret Looks like one from a distance. A blue geometric creation, with many
sides, patched together with different texured fabrics. Given to him
by a native in the Carmanah. Beneath it, he is completely bald.
Submitted by Caliban (email@example.com), on Sunday, March 26, 1995, from Vancouver Island