With these words I do hereby cast a spell and become the mask I make, all strips of leather and feathers and papier mâché. I make things. I make worlds. Paintings. Comics. I make men weep and women keep a troubled curl upon their lips. I have written stories; The Dog Next Door and Other Disturbances and White Christmas by M. Lopes da Silva are available to siphon into your electronic plaything of choice via Amazon.com. At Queen Mob’s Teahouse I offer terribly accurate comics to peruse and my jack-of-all-trades pen. Specialization is a fool’s game; the world is too woolly and wonderful to bear shutting any open door. I will likely end my days in the middle of learning something new – possibly the rules of cricket.

I was asked my opinion of snacks, but in truth snacks are all pretty harlots who come and go according to my bourgeois whims. I ingest snacks the way I do all things; absolutely and with sensualist reverie. The two beacons of my gastronomical galaxy are coffee and tea – with either I can conquer anything except the constant cream shortage at my apartment.

Do you remember me yet? I was there to knit the entrails of your gutted dreams and whisper, to you only: “I like you and I want to see a little more.”

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