Titus Toledo is creator of spreadophilia (circa 2000), among other precarities, mostly transitory and often darkly arcane. An inveterate new media artisan, he is almost spastic in his output, leaving entrails of so-called works and in-the-works here and there from, say, his sundry excursions into sound art (“death is a door,” circa 2002, an album of aural assemblages), type art (“re:signs,” circa 2003, about an imagined but probable extra-terrestrial alphabet), code art (“sarcophagus.txt,” circa 2001, a duchampian experiment in self-mutating automatic hyperfiction), literary art (“Last Trip,” circa 1987, to name his first officially published short story, which hints at murder in a nightbus), and poetics (“mantra.X,” circa 1988, by his own admission, a spiritual suicide note disguised as a six-book poetry collection).
Toledo cut his teeth working the editorial and design rackets for the longest time– to say nothing of his 18-year stint as a third world community journalist– before retiring, in a manner of speaking, to pursue what he describes as “a more deeply personal and physical” scholarship in the humanities.
Of the seeming interdisciplinary character of his labors, he has this to say: “What I cannot write, I draw. What I cannot draw, I drink,” or words to that effect.
Of his nascent attempt at “enterpreneurship,” including and most especially the goods he has currently made commercially available in the interwebs: “It has come to my attention that my work here is not exactly for everybody. If, by chance, you are “not exactly” everybody, this is for you”
Toledo was born in Angeles City, Philippines, in 1967. He is abundantly married and blessed with innumerable children. As of this writing, he digs space weather, code art, semiotics, guerrilla gardening, and crispy begukan— in that order.
He comes in peace.