A biography of the anonymous is paradoxical. Against nature. Everything this nameless individualist wishes you to know can be gleaned from these enigmatic, ersatz epigrams. No more, no less.
His privacy is cherished, hence no tweets, chirps, burps or engagement in any other facile ‘social’ media.
Your, or anybody else’s, approval is neither invited nor valued, and is treated with contempt. If this riddle wants you to know what he’s doing, you’ll already know. You may cherchez Le-Quoi on the electronic highways and byways, but it will be in vain, unless, perchance, another shares his nom de plume and doesn’t mind being a product.
He’s not married, has no children and, with the exception of Baudelaire, Genet and Huysmans, has no time for the French since he gave up cheese.
Everything he says is a lie, including this.