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Welcome to a world where memoir meets myth, and the personal becomes unexpectedly universal. My name is David. Like the little lyrical King. My second name is after a famous folk singer with a raspy voice, who named himself after a Welsh poet. Then I also have a 3rd name, after a prophet who had a bad case of the Mondays and landed up in a whale’s tummy. And last but not least, my battered family name, which was mangled through dark times in eastern-European exile zones, but somehow survived, perhaps due to its symbolic meaning of a ‘fresh start’ or ‘hope’.

After some adventures IRL and paradigm shape shifting diagnosis I now spend my days writing and creating the good stuff of life. Believe me, you’ll love it. My gifted son helps me a bit, admit. There is soul, too.

Much of my work springs from a life lived out of sync: adoption, identity, belief, doubt, hope, joy, some sort of light. It cracks, glitches, flickers and shines brightly all at the same time.

Some people take life for granted. I call it a miracle and it is my job to testify these anomalies, paradoxes and seemingly unconnected threads.

Pull up a chair. Stay a while. The strange is only strange until it starts to speak your language.