I’d like to welcome you!
From my Facebook, Instagram or Twitter, y’all are more than welcome to gaze upon everything from my museum of thoughts and creative ideas, to my interpretations of and adventures in the outside world.
I am not a professional writer.
I am not an amateur writer.
My writing experience is limited.
I’m more of what you might call a modern-day eccentric, in that I am weird, vulgar, overly expressive, overly descriptive and share entirely too many details.
To paraphrase an enjoyable author; “He who shits out a piece of work of any kind, regardless of the end result, has done more than the greatest theorist whom merely hopes to ponder that which is possible.” I’m pretty sure I’m attempting to quote a Patrick Rothfuss podcast.
I’m pretty happy this thought appeared when it did, because you are going to notice an underlying theme as a reader of my work; my brain is an apple tree, once a sapling, it is now growing older with age, releasing thoughts like apples as they grow along the synapses of the brain’s elusive nervous network, my fingers acting as the local orchard’s little picking boy, running underneath each tree. Hoping to catch one of each before sitting down, sorting the delicious orbs of thought and existence by size, color, flavor and density. Keeping the best for myself to prepare and share with everybody, should they so desire, and discarding the worst via the time-honored tradition of any apple-picking youth; caving to the desire of loading the softest and most rotten into a bungee cord launcher, pulled back as far as possible and flung out over the orchard and into the information superhighway, where hopefully it splatters across the windshield of a grossly-underinformed and disgustingly -overconfident protestor that refuses to vote and/or vaccinate their children. But I digress.
As you can see, I am not a classical writer by any means or definitions.
Enduring the scholastic endeavor of pedagogical training ended in college. This came following three scholarships, 8 majors and 10 years, none of which culminated in a degree, let alone anything marketable. Upon my retreat, re-entry and subsequent repeated retreat from the fields of education, I wandered the earth in search of thrilling experiences. Those thrilling experiences led me to a broke and morbidly lost period known as early adulthood, deep in injury-riddled medical debt and lost without any direction or accomplishments. I was left with my self-destructive thoughts, my possessions, limited work experiences, eager friends and hyper-successful family.
Fearing the worst and thinking I had nothing left for which to live, I sold my soul to Hades, Lucifer and probably Vlad the Impaler, in exchange for safe passage to a pleasant and comfortable life.
Like all deals with the devil, my benefits package resulted in me spending the remainder of my days chained to a desk as a clerk for a global investment management firm. Throughout what I’m sure Dante included in his initial edit copy edition as the “2.5th circle” in betwixt Lust and Gluttony, I navigated the early phases of genuine adulthood with the nimble eagerness of a mustang pony on meth, both learning how to walk and carry itself inside of a second-grade schoolroom filled to the brim with children’s handmade popsicle castles. This is in place of the usual cliché that involves a unfixed steer and a storefront for a porcelain peddler. I like to create my own variants of these classic dichotomies to provide a unique experience and some Easter eggs for the attention of you loyalists I may earn along the way.
In the meantime, you’ll learn tidbits about who I am, where I came from, my carefully documented adventures and their effects on me, as well as those who helped me along the way and those that didn’t. You won’t necessarily find out whom exactly, as the names are changed to protect the innocent. Their actions and some descriptions may give them away in the meantime to those of you who were lucky/unlucky enough to take part in my realized insanity. I’ll provide visual aids, context clues and a seemingly endless supply of scrambled stories.
As an artist I am an Inker, my fascination with Lego’s made me a Tinker of machines, my mother made me an eater and a Drinker, with this blog as my wall I am a county fair Plinker of paint-filled balloons placed and filled at random. Let’s get it popping.
Feel free to voice any questions, comments, concerns and grammatical advices into comments or messages.
Hopefully I’ll notice them.