I am a writer based out of Chengdu, Sichuan Province. I also take photos and shoot video, manage web content and other media related activities. You can follow me on Twitter, check out my LinkedIn page or just shoot me an email at email@example.com
There should be more on this page I am thinking.
I blame my parents for everything; without them, I would be nothing. It has been so long I am starting to forget their faces, but I will never forget my mother’s laughter, or my dad’s tipsy smile and the wonder it never failed to inspire. They are real, my parents, not figments of my imagination nor cardboard cut outs assigned to me by the technocrats who rule our world. They live. They really happened.
I was born in Offenbach, in the shadow of Frankfurt am Main, and lived on Templesee Strasse for a while, before my parents up and moved to Red Creek (pronounced Crick) NY, outside of Buffalo. My dad, a one eyed war hero, was born outside of Buffalo and his clan still holds considerable sway over lands to the south, and to the west. They are a secretive bunch, and prefer to manage their holdings through Latin proxies.
My mother felt out of place in Buffalo. A Hessian princess who fled her oppressive inheritance for a life of adventure and romantic poverty, for her Red Crick was a stopover, a bold ploy to throw off the investigators my Oma sent forth to bring back her younger, wilder daughter.
I only glimpsed the men in bowler hats, twice in my life, the second time as an adult. He seemed tired, no longer annoyed, and thirsty. He bought me a beer and told me of my true bloodline, which I will reveal to great effect when the time is right.
My parents globetrotted selfishly during my formative years, swinging each other under the lamplight, in the rain, while my brother and I cowered in the alleys kicking the wet stone. They were gluttons for each other, and we were by products of their lust. Luckily, my father convinced himself and my mother that being honorable would pay off in the end. So my brother and I were allowed to witness their romance.
I fell in love with an Evil Woman at age 17. A quiet girl, good at school, pale and conservatively dressed. After she took my virginity, she revealed herself, ‘I am a vampire,’ I will never forget her smile, and how my heart plummeted, how the world instantly moved away from me, how my my second thought was of Forever With Her. I begged her, but playthings are not meant to live forever. I was cast off and wallowed in depression for four years. When I came to, I was in a cannery in Alaska, covered in fish guts, sobbing softly as I tried to unbutton my pants with horribly cramped hands. They paid me and I followed Charles the Communist to China.
That was in August of 2000.