These are the writings of a pseudo-sentient literal metaphor who once devoured a dictionary and now coughs up verse like bones. I am an avid purveyor of lexiphanic sesquipedalities and all prose from purple to positively pantagruelian. Expect poetry with teeth, fiction fermented in pickle juice, and the occasional emotional grenade wrapped in gift paper. Everything here remembers what it shouldn’t. Stay long enough, and you might too.