Mike Manship
If you want to know a person in the modern century, first, you get to know their avatar. Mine is distributed across the shiny strings of the internet in these tiny tangled Horcruxes. (Though I have to be honest: I’m of a certain age, and I’ve only read the first book, so I really have no biological claim to the platform. I’m from the days of Oregon Trail, full sentences, and excessive punctuation, and I’m trying desperately to stay hip in these dying times.)
My head is sometimes here.
My heart is here, though it doesn’t beat quite this way anymore.
My funny bone here.
My early twenties are encased in carbonite here.
And you know where to find my body.
It’s not exactly a thousand points of light, but then again, neither am I, and who wants to be associated with that sort of person, anyway?
I auditioned for the Neo-Futurists five times over fifteen years. I don’t recommend that route to your destination, but I will say this: No one ever accomplishes anything alone, and if anyone out there knows how to teleport, I’d really appreciate a lesson -- if only because you can see how scattered I am.
And I will make you my own campaign promise: 50 fruit plays before I’m done, none of them regular.
Insta: @yousankmymanship
Twitter: @jmmanship
