Publisher's Synopsis
it's the 1990's and no one gives a shit. think grunge rock.. rolling out of bars on dirty lower east side nyc sidewalks.. do whatever we want whenever we want. the rules are nil. the only thing that mattered is expressing our genuine selves in whatever artistic vessel that appealed to us most. our minds were grit filled feeling machines chasing reminiscent romantics and paying homage to the surrealists. we hailed woodstock's hippies and hung on the indifferent tail feathers of the beat generations bravado with their rhythm and sweet swing of tongue. we didn't wear bellbottoms or blazers but our ripped jeans and plaid button downs stunk of their plight while ours became to stay saturated with finding our own. the stink was the post beat 90's and inside is a taste of the place where the only rule is to follow your bliss by finding your sorrow.
when i was a very little girl, i remember adults asking me what i wanted to be when i grew up. i always replied: "a poet"... later on when i was an adult I'd think about those times and wasn't sure if my answer was because i was thinking i could be a ubiquitous recluse like virginia woolf or my head was already speaking in poets tongue. i knew i was different from all the little kids that gathered with each other for playdates with parents while i gathered with books. alone. in libraries."
