Biography

Tony Richard Rodriguez was born in Fremont, California on August 22, 1977. He is currently a middle school teacher. When Tony is not dissecting the history of the Catholic Church, inciting revolution in the French Quarter with Ignatius J. Reilly, discussing Misty Wilmot’s and Ray Pulaski’s many character flaws, taking up the sword with Gilgamesh and Enkidu, or agreeing that The Blondes Lay Content, Tony spends his time gaining weight, lecturing his two kids, loving his wife endlessly, correcting papers and complaining about the irrational parents of his students. Imaginatively, he still lives in San Francisco, California. His other books include THE DISAPPEARANCE AND THE SLOW AWAKENING and RAPID EYE METAPHORS. Here's what people are saying: “Tony R. Rodriguez is an exciting new writer, raw as an exposed nerve, who prods and probes the dark recesses of the human psyche with excruciating candour. He wrestles with restlessness and the desire for rest, and grapples in life’s gutter with the meaning of life.” —Joseph Pearce, author of THE UNMASKING OF OSCAR WILDE “You will find the sun in Tony R. Rodriguez’s work, shining from new angles, revealing the familiar as unknown and seemingly everyday events as one-of-a-kind moments. Not to be missed.” —Paul A. Toth, author of the novels FISHNET and FIZZ “Warm and insightful, Tony R. Rodriguez reveals the connections between our seemingly fragmented lives. A poignant call to those who may have forgotten the feeling of river stones beneath their feet, how the moon looked when you were supposed to be in bed or the art of listening to a birdsong. Here too is an honest study of human emotion, relationships and what it is that drives us.” —Mark Gwynne Jones, author of PSYCHICBREAD “It occurs to me that Tony R. Rodriguez is working dicey ground. In the tradition of other literary rowdies, Kerouac, Bukowski, Kesey, he is not afraid of the lyrical in the service of the earthy. Or the spiritual ode in the quest for worldly sense. And . . . he uses language the way Hendrix used his guitar: to make beautiful noise.” —Corey Mesler, author of WE ARE BILLION-YEAR-OLD CARBON. “Visceral and vibrant, Tony R. Rodriguez’s poetry is disarmingly honest and honestly charming.” —Kathi Kamen Goldmark, author of AND MY SHOES KEEP WALKING BACK TO YOU “Tony R. Rodriguez writes with depth and clarity. His words both flow and leap across the page.” —Lisa Zaran, author of THE SOMETIMES GIRL “With provocative and poetic prose, Tony’s well-crafted storytelling takes us on a journey of the surreal. Picking up where the Beats left off, Tony is a fearless and innovative voice of a new Beat Generation.” —Johnny Olson, editor of MadSwirl.com “Perhaps somewhere between On the Road and Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas once hitchhiked the artistic talent of Tony R. Rodriguez; however, with simplicity regurgitated: poems and shorts he shows a growing maturity that places him closer to Corso’s “Writ on the Eve of My 32nd Birthday.” He may not yet be “…old and wise with white hair in a tall library/in a deep chair by a fireplace,” but he is surely on his way with a collection of poems and stories that show a unique slice of his America as he strides into the new millennium, a voice to be reckoned with today and for years to come.” —Roger Humes, director of The Other Voices International Project “With his Bay Area backdrop and provocative brushstroke, Rodriguez paints a glorious picture of life and love, of growing up and growing old, and of troubled souls we can easily relate to. Rodriguez’s tales are at once bittersweet, evocative, touching, redemptive, and, most enjoyably, surprising.” —Rob Rosen, author of SPARKLE: THE QUEEREST BOOK YOU'LL EVER LOVE “Rodriguez’s prose is simply exquisite! His style is passionate and evocative, like the sunset over Kuramo Waters. I really enjoy the way his stories are woven and larded with imageries rich and varied. His lyricism is riveting.” —Uche Peter Umez, author of DARK THROUGH THE DELTA

Samples

"Kid Anderson at Mojos" June 19th, 2004 —Fremont again —a Sharp 19 inch shows me darts thrown by an engaged bald guy —the band here at this lounge plays original tunes that may not belong on a marketed CD —I’ve ordered an Incredible Hulk but the bartender wishes it were beer or something less modern —so many sad faces here I’m one of these tragic grimaces —as the band does their thing I want to tap my feet but I tap my straw instead —the Christmas lights that festoon overhead only illuminate the drunkenness: I see strumpets yawning male whores gawking a poet complaining barflies dying bartenders killing —tomorrow is Father’s Day and I have no father to thank —my first one sleeps in a bed filled with domestic beer and no headstone —my Second is everlasting, but many grow tired of His Organization —my third abuses his wife, brainwashing her and saying their failed marriage is all her fault (Still waiting for him to fade away) —if you could hear this Blues of Kid Anderson you’d think interesting thoughts when you pass their CD on a table, which should be— one dollar and not a cent more OK! like —I’m the jerk —I’m the loser here tonight —I’ll take everything negative I’ve said about this band back —their guitar riffs are notable —their drummer’s beats are tangible I’m only venting because tomorrow’s Father’s Day dna lliw I evah eno on ot knaht —I’m perplexed because my eyes will soon be the color of the Christmas Lights above me: [half Green] AND [half Red] —from the Incredible Hulk (HPNOTIQ and Hennessey in a bucket of ice) —the melancholy of a bastard son.

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