jack spicer and ulrike meinhof were something indeed. Jack was dead just over 5 years when I was conceived, and ulrike was fresh off both the liberation of andeas baader and the formation of the baader-meinhof gang. Ulrike thought it was time to grow the family, but seeing as though her secret man raspe had lost his balls to ex-Nazis wielding chisels and limes years before, it wasn't going to work according to plan. that is to say the conception wasn't well-conceived. jack was more than dead, he was preserved, or at least millions of little jacks were. baader liberated the little jacks himself as a gift to ulrike and gave them to raspe. no no, he didn't attend to the, uh, needs of a dead man. he robbed a sperm bank for the little jacks, one soon to become a little patrick. raspe and meinhof were indeed drunk, and raspe made up some stuff about manna from heaven to explain her impregnation. I have three fathers, and two were protokrautrockers who dressed chic and used big fancy words. the other father, well, I really resent him now. Fathers can't just be sperm donors you know.
this is my life story. I am born of public seed of inflammation spite and hangover throb. I exist full as life in two dimensions--just choose your favorite font to give me depth.