The poems of Paul Sibley are coated in mania; written in a harsh, unpredictable language that can provoke fear and discomfort. In contrast, they are usually slow, careful analyses into the most subtle nuances of human nature. At once disturbing and wise, they leave one with many questions.
It is unlikely that a person like Paul Sibley ever becomes a poet. Most people are shocked and confused when they do eventually read the poetry of the the larger then life Mr Sibley. Not because it is necessarily award-winning poetry mind you, but because it does not fit the preconceived notion of what most people conspire to view Mr Sibley as being.
Regardless, born in Chicago and a resident of Atlanta for fifteen years, Mr Sibley plied his writing talent, while working for a number of large computer companies in Atlanta. In that time he has also masqueraded in Buckhead's biggest franchise bookstore disguised as an angry black sales clerk, where he terrorized the wealthy and elite, forcing them to hand him money and address him by his name "Mr Sibley".
At parties, if you ever meet or have the chance to shine under the glow of Mr Sibley, you’ll often here him lament between a glass of ice and amber spirits: "I am an asshole, but not the asshole you think I am." A comment which many have laughed at and walked away from a bit confused.
To his equal credit and dismay, Mr Sibley has tried harder to influence people to do more with their work then he can be credited with the production of his own projects. Though he is known as the co-creator of the popular poetry and artist web site Sick Puppy Press, as well as the curious little online gem know as KungFu, which seems to be his personal portal of rants and occasional poetry.
Usually he’s just as happy to chat and wax philosophically about life and people then anything else. Drop him a line at email@example.com.
Paul's works here at Unlikely Stories are:
July 1999 - July 2000:
Hang Me on a Cross
I Want to Raid Your Life
Curly Poured Me a Shot
I Pulled My Collar
Her Skin Was Soft
I Grasped for Nothing