Paradise was written over many years in New York, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, and Alicante. The poem from which the book takes its title was inspired by an elementary school textbook. A possible subject for a poem, according to the author, is "a map of paradise."


I told you if I had

to leave town

I would go to Chicago

there was vast


boarding the plane

The Zeurotic Manifesto

Prevailing evolution. We bumble with science into which we venture and believe that chaos can predict the want to die.

Only because we are a new millennium, we have reset our minds to the zero of the complex manifestation of face value; give us back our tribes, our actual existence.

We are skeptical as we can filter through so many inputs. We look for peaceful means. Whatever thought we share, we care about ourselves; no time to limit our ability to make mistakes seeing the mirrors that keep us exponentially through evolution’s novelty.

This is a fearlessness with an absence of fear.

When the self imposed cognitive Y2K and the physical boundaries explode through every area, ours is the same. Want is to continue, arbitrary.

What used to be the will to live, the want to control, we reserve the right to it all.

Cappy Jack, Andrew J. Jones--2007

everyone lives somewhere

does that make it right

Selfish Monologues

After Paradise, I began automatically recording my impressions of ideas from scientists, philosophers, poets, musicians, painters, sculptors and friends and was left with many notebooks full of scribbled chunks of text that I chiseled down to form curious juxtapositions. The result is Selfish Monologues, egopoetic rants from oblivion.


from Selfish Monologues

His handwriting shows no respect

she sleeps these twenty years or so


with the screams of reality fit

only for shelter and food

you have a long way to go

years between conversations in your true voice

believed cursed since you learned to talk

this is when gods and men revive the air


in the theatre of sacrifice

when war is trivial and peace responds

in every selfish monologue

the streets raise an order that the sun

shine shadows on the wall

every child a drip in the slow destruction