I was raised within an unlucky family, cursed many generations ago after a broken promise to a Latvian fortune teller. When I was a boy I was wrongfully accused of stealing the shoes of famous baseball player Clyde “Sweet Feet” Livingston and sentenced to eighteen months at Camp Green Lake, where I was forced to dig holes daily, six feet tall and six feet wide. I eventually escaped with my mute friend Zero, whom I would carry up a mountain. We ultimately found water and a field of onions, which would deter dozens of venomous yellow-spotted lizards while obtaining a treasure chest that belonged to my great-grandfather. Wait — this is the plot of Holes. 

About Me: Take 2

I live in Brooklyn with my cat, Seymour. At night Seymour stares out the window and watches the New York City rats climb in and out of garbage cans. He will sometimes abruptly sneeze against the glass. Moments later, he will have forgotten about sneezing and subsequently lick the debris from the glass joyously. Seymour lives for the moment. On Fridays he has tuna — sorry…

About Me: Take 3

Hi, I’m David.

Or Knuckles. Knucks. D-Knuck. Knuck if you buck, etc.

I love words.

& rearranging them to make thoughts.

& rearranging those thoughts to make ideas.

& rearranging those ideas to make stories.

& rearranging those stories to make life.

And what else is there really?