Welcome again, or for the first time.  For those of you who have been here before, you will notice that the site has been updated and expanded.  What was once a tiny island is slowly molding itself through a series of almost geologic labor pains into a smoldering archipelago at the January of its existence.  And no doubt the time has come to rejuvenate what has turned, at least to me, into something more than a bit stale.  And how do I begin?  Well, as the sign on the door used to say,we are here, you and I, learning about art--the art that I create, and more importantly, the art that is created.  We shall continue our exploration, and this time, I think I can provide cyber-slides in the form of messages in an e-bottle, floating in this world-wide sea of information saturation.  Come along, let us make sense of all that is there for us to wallow in and come out cleansed with the clarity of sight and insight.  Let's explore...the paradox.

"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality.  But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things."
         --T.S. Eliot, "Tradition and the Individual Talent," from The Sacred Wood

As you can see, one of my idols is T.S. Eliot (shown left).  Ever since the day I discovered "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" and The Waste Land, I have found within their leaves a powerful, understated poetry whose author's contribution to the modern literary canon is beyond value.  A literary man like me needs a place to start in order to develop a theory and style that is arguably my own, and what better place to start than with (arguably) the greatest poet and critic of the twentieth century?  To learn more about him and what his work means to me, check out my T.S. Eliot page by clicking on his picture.
 

"We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it intensely.  The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless."
            --Oscar Wilde, from the introduction to
             The Picture of Dorian Gray

Another great in the pantheon of canonical figures that I admire is Oscar Wilde (shown right).  Perhaps the wittiest and most colorful character in the history of English literature, Wilde represented an aesthetic decadence that was at once both hedonistic and endearing.  His fall from grace in 1895 has made him a personal martyr in a struggle that continues to go on, in various forms, right up to the present day.  To learn more about Oscar Wilde and what he means to me, go to his page by clicking on his picture.

 

As I have said before, one of the greatest gifts that I can bestow is to give of myself artistically to no one in particular.  I do this in my poetry, my prose, my drama, and my criticism.  To check out my cyber-volume of literature that I have the dubious honor of calling mine own, check out my Works and Days, and see some good old-fashioned literary farming.  I cannot say if it is good or bad; I only know that you, the reader, will think.  That is my focus, and my justified end.

This house may look like a new house, but the foundation is the same.  As time progresses, the decor shall get spruced up a bit, and the theme of the thing shall be more and more well-defined.  Half the fun of having a home is decorating it, right?  The other half involves living there--and I hope there is enough of my soul on this site to give the reader a sense of my living presence.  WYSIWYG with me, and I hope a bit of that soul that resides here resounds with you.  Thank you once again for your attention.

Need to speak?
Reach me through the gate...