
is the pseudonym under which Siah commits crimes of natures graphical, illustrative or typographical. He is an alumnus of the notorious institution LASALLE College of the Arts, said to be located at world's end. It is rumoured that prior to this association Siah was an artless butcher of sorts.
Siah is a serial reader of novels (by author) and John Irving, Isaac Asimov, Cory Doctorow & Thomas Hardy are amongst those in season at the moment. This has obviously had an insufferable effect of verbosity on his writing. He is also highly skilled in the Asian version of humility (that means it tends to, more than occasionally, border on passive-aggressiveness).
Nonetheless, without further ado, we shall presently be introduced to the fruits of his unscrupulous labour:
Viewers with a more masochistic nature might consider visiting the konospoon blog, where Siah butchers more words and preens like a goddamn peacock.
He has also ventured into social networking, albeit with extremely limited success, for those who are into obscure curios of no apparent utility.
Finally, for those who have a shilling or two and would actually like to have professional graphic design & illustration done for him(her)self, send'em emails a'rollin his way. Siah will talk if you would just kindly remove those forward slashes exquisitely placed to foil the attempt of rampant 5p4m b0+3rzzz.
It was rumoured that a round man, slightly inebriated, stole a couple of images or words from this very website, which eventually got to Siah's attention. With a manic grin, he loaded his shotgun and went on a road trip. The objective of that particular road trip was to find the man of generous girth. Upon their meeting, however, Siah did not open fire. Instead, with the same manic grin, he put the shotgun into the other man's hands, asking him to shoot. Naturally, he did not have the slightest nerve to pull the trigger, because deep down inside he knew he was the one bearing the guilt. He stood, shaking with terrible remorse. And he wet his pants while the Internet watched... And those pants weren't dark-coloured pants. As fate would have it then, they were white, just nice for the wet patches to show really obviously. And regret he did.