What I aim to take from literature, and most writing in this world, is insight into another person’s thought patterns. A book is made good by the shape between its lines; its geometry of truth, the measurements of which are always different, personalized to identity at the time of reading.

I design my books with this kaleidoscopic end in mind. They are not straightforward narratives or sets of philosophical strictures. The pages are very different from one another. Spontaneous prose next to poetry followed by a story then an illustration with a mantra woven in; fractured beauty, forever up for reinterpretation.

My recent book, Idedik (the name is a bastardization of eidetic, a word that refers to mental images so vivid it’s as if they’re visible), is a solid example of this kaleidoscopic chaos. Even my symphonic literature, anthological in form, features kaleidoscopic workings between story and song, song and poem.

And I’m happy to say that Abstract Deficiency Swims Phonetically is my most prismatic creation yet.