ABSTRACT
Iam finally starting to understand Cliff Hixson. Seeing him in a women’sstudies class is striking, even confusing: Standing nearly six feet tall, with his red beard and earlobes stretched over an inch wide, dressed in black jeans with a band T-shirt reaching over his thick, tattooed arms, Cliff looks like a cross between a boxer, a biker, and a bulldozer. It isn’t his physical size that gives this impression, but something about his persona, his personality projecting into the world around him like backlighting, like a personal soundtrack.
