"Turn on, tune in, drop out . . . why not. Yeah." -- Timothy Leary's first and last words
In the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, where shadows dance like forgotten memories, Kevin M. Cowan crafts his symphony of words and notes, a tapestry woven with the threads of technology and the echoes of human longing. His prose, like a whispered secret on a cold, misty night, beckons the reader into a world where the lines between reality and imagination blur, where the hum of circuitry meets the soulful lament of a distant saxophone. Each story, each melody, is a journey through the labyrinth of the mind, a reflection of the digital age's relentless march and the timeless quest for meaning. In the noir-zine pages of his creation, the future whispers its mysteries, and the past lingers like smoke in the
Neo, Archive Guide