Timothy Volpert was born and raised in Topeka, Kansas. His Poems have appeared in seveneightfive magazine and certain dusty corners of the Internet. This is his third self-published collection, second he'll tell you about. His poetry is the stuff of white lies, the sort of fabrications and snippets of short stories one tells oneself to make it through one's mind-numbing day. Most of his poems are snapshots of moments that may or may not have happened, viewed as though it were a photograph of an everyday object, zoomed in so close that the object becomes unrecognizable, becomes a mystery of color and texture to be guessed at and wondered about. It is a (perhaps futile) attempt to find and exemplify the beauty in the banal, the majesty in the painfully mediocre. His major influences include Dylan Thomas, Leonard Cohen, Hart Crane, Jim Carroll, Patti Smith, and Vladimir Nabokov, among others. Like them, he is also a carbon-based life-form writing primarily in the English language.

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he'll tell you the truth." ~Oscar Wilde / life is just as fickle as fiction, isn't it? / these stories are important if not vivid. does existence determine the validity of experience? / these poems are stillframes and single scenes of movies that don't exist, biopics of No One in Particular.