BIO

Born. We grope our way into the world, we fall through halls of mirrors. Barely forth from the nest and already time is running out. The writer draws a few vials and hastily scrawls in blood some insignia onto the mirrors; rain runs it down. Through swamps of dim light he sloshes, then out into the wastes. Perhaps he manages to sink a few leaden steps into the dunes, encased on all sides by the housing of the hourglass. The famished seeker reaches for a pen; break the bread, it falls open with worms. Harrowed, the writer writes for his life. Smaller and smaller he becomes, stretched, as on the rim of a black hole. This writer no less than the rest.

Ocean is a disabled poet and novelist. He writes winding hypnogogic chronicles, ordeal fairy tales, pararealist poetry, ballads, gratuitous sci-fi, resuscitatory animist myth, postcards to no one, erasure incantations, and abstract erotic literature. The poet must drown in ink, an anthracite baptism, to make himself reborn—or he is lost.