From left to right that's me, Dana Williams, and Matt Wambach. Pals of old, part of the elite core of individuals that made up the illustrious DL Posse. And stuff. Dana's pretty punk rock.
Matt and myself used to spend a lot of time playing chess back in like the 8th grade, I vaguely remember him beating me once, but we won't go into that here. What we spent most of our time doing later on in life was writing together along with Jim Kjelstrup, older bro to Amy K. who was my best friend back in DL - who as a point of order I just saw in Madison and she still rocks the goddam boat, but between me and Jim and Matt we had a regular troup of poets, and we started writing hodgepodge poetry that just sort of congealed itself onto the paper, and for better or worse penned Manson's Wall after it. We were driving to fargo at the time feeling bitter and angry about chicks because that's what poets do, especially when driving to Fargo.
If I value anything about vivid hallucinagenic lizard-king meta-imagery its thanks to Jim, and if I know anything about how to end a poem right its due to my Wambachian pretentions. And the fact that I can still do niether in no way reflects failure on their part. I mean hell, they tried. Whaddaya want? My freakin liver?
Jim and me circa 1995. Jim is currently out in Montana saving lives and shit. It was news to me that there was anybody else living in Montana, but hey. I think Matt was hired by the CIA out of college, but that'd be telling.