Ya know, it is an amusing thought to hypothesize that the streams of prose coming out of Hawk's imaginary playmates are projections of buried aspirations and ambitions toward ways of being in the world that the author himself does not want to take ownership of, but which reflect his suppressed desires.

Thus, he fancies himself an overweight and overpaid actor sometimes, and at other times a scrawny, horny, beer-addicted ne'er-do-well; and he would love to roam the woodwork in the form of a large hamster, and swing from trees and shoot down bad guys and avoid his familial responsibilities like Chongo. All in all, it is no surprise he has sequestered himself in a small Canadian backwater. Why, if he was let loose on the world to actually realize his potential it would be catastrophic for Western civilization.


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