I guess I got in trouble when I asked a lot of question my parents couldn’t answer. Puddles of evaporated steam formed in the Mohave Desert. Polar ice caps melted faster than when I was four. Mom said the poetry lurks deep within her gene pool.Īt around age ten I began noticing radical changes in the environment. Most of the adults I met would say, Hey kid, you ought ta write a book someday. At first I wrote letters to friends and family-poetry too. I remember scribbling away in any weather, as if I was born to write. From that time on I wanted to make, write and manufacture books, even though books were an almost lost art form. I played with dozens of electronic gadgets, but I loved the books the best, they had a moldy smell and a crinkly feel to them. My Mom taught me how to read when I was three, first Ferdinand the Pit Bull, then Where the Wild Things Went, then on to the classics on e-book and fiche and in old fashioned paper books. My duties as first child lasted about two years, at which time I gradually faded into obscurity. I, personally wanted to leave it unchanged, as good as when we found it, but the majority wanted to change it-to leave their mark on it, as if it was some graffiti laden school desk, about to fall apart. It has therefore become my duty to tell you of my generation and how we changed the world. Storytelling often befalls the uglier men. I am an almost ugly man with a brutish wooden face whittled by life. My parents signed exclusive contracts to display my cuteness on a global link. As the first child of the new millennium my responsibilities were awesome. I drew my first breath in San Francisco in the first minute of the first day in the first year of the twenty-first century. With Special thanks to: Nelson Algren, Alain Robbe-Grillet, Jean Cocteau, Diana Van den Berg, Simon Vinkenoog, Dame Frances Yates, the late John Michelle,Bob Marlowe and the other members of my extended family. Discover other titles by Hank Harrison at For
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