Let's face it, beat poetry makes the world go round. We all know that! Thus Maynard McCoy's life's mission has been to make this old world spin even faster, turn hours into minutes, minutes into seconds and seconds into well, really really small units of time.

Beat poetry earned its moniker because its exponents were misunderstood, downtrodden, poor, outcast and just plain beat. Maynard still doesn't realize this and continues writing poetry and setting it to music under the misapprehension that beat poems are poems with a beat. Nobody has had the heart to tell him the truth and there's really no point, because he wouldn't listen anyway.

Maynard's unique blend of mixing truth with fiction, the obvious with the bizarre and philosophy with an astute ability to complain will catapult you, the listener, into the strange and oblique inner world of a compulsive, obsessive, guitar picking, banjo picking, nit picking, cwarfee drinking, neat freak, surfer dropout and leave you scratching your head......that's right, scratching your head.