Once I thought I was special and destined for greatness and all that. But I grew up, got a degree in creative writing and in music which are both actually pretty useless in the real world. Duh. People think I'm a snob but most of the time I just don't say anything unless it really needs to be said. I ate breakfast this morning at four in the afternoon. I would take a bullet to save a painter or a poet I had never met, but not to save a business person I had known all my life. I'm generally nihilistic in a very mild way. I don't feel anyone's life has any inherent purpose or meaning, but I see this as more liberating than depressive.

I'm pretty bright but I rarely apply myself. I'm in love with the notion of being the reluctant genius, and I do it so well that no one will ever know how smart I may in fact be. That's not to say I consider myself that debilitatingly intelligent, on the contrary I'm usually just a big dolt. And I have zero to no common sense. But I have plenty of tact, somehow or another. I never use a word unless I know exactly what it means and have taken into consideration every possible way that it could be understood. I'm exceedingly aware of my diction; I am also extremely conservative with it and generally avoid using unnecessary words. The irony of course is that I'm going on about all this bullshit and taking up a pretty lot of space in so doing.

Also, I'm a really nice guy in an analytically moral sort of way. I don't judge anyone for just about anything. I have a passive and accepting moral system. If you like to have sex with your aunt or think humankind should hunt and feed off of geriatric populations within our species to accelerate our own evolution, I won't judge you for any of that. I'm open to and interested by what you have to say, provided you've given due thought to why you do any of the disparate or commonplace things you do--because honestly, if you do something that is directly contrary to my lifestyle, I will be wont to inquire why; I'm a very curious person. I respond to all e-mails. I have excellent manners. You can take me anywhere and I'll fit in without disappearing. Hicks think I'm whimsical and pretentious assholes think I'm refreshing. But I'm still introverted, odd that.

I am flatteringly aloof, unsnobbishly indie, and secularly humanist

Scant little. I just moved back in with the folks because I ran out of money in San Francisco where I went to university. Now I'm applying to grad schools so I can earn a second degree that will never net me a decent job and so that I can amass a stack of college loan debt that I will never be rid of with said lack of a decent vocation. Pretty much I need to get the hell out of this place. I feel like I've been falling into a soft dark hole for quite a while now; I've gotten darned used to the feeling--breathing darkness. If grad school doesn't happen, I'll probably join the peace corps and teach math in Albania (I generally consider math to be the only truth in the universe. I believe there has to be a single, albeit uncommunicably complex formula that controls the entire conglomerate of all existence. Underneath all chaos and all faith and all science and all the mundane shit there is, is math), and if that falls through I'll find a sugar daddy in Ireland or... something. I will take literally any exit route out of Maryland short of joining the military; have any ideas? Also, I do not write run-on sentences; I'm just really good at using punctuation.

.Being objective. .Playing devil's advocate. .Reading minds. .Writing poems. .Painting murals. .Creating characters and broad plot schemata for fiction and then losing the gumption to actually write the bit. .Assonance and Alliteration. (And yes, it vexes me profoundly that I will never be able to alliterate in the formal sense with the word 'alliteration.' Equally irking is the fact that the word palendrome isn't a palendrome at all. I think language should be obstensive and self-respresentative. Let's call them semordromes instead please.) .Singing Grandaddy and Radiohead songs. .cutting my own hair so I look more "indie". .it's ok that these are all sentence fragments because the section is headed by an introductory fragment.

That I stuck my tongue out at them while they were checking me out. I do that sometimes, on those rare occassions when I am not too oblivious to notice that I am in fact being checked out. Mostly it makes me uncomfortable when people stare at me so I do things to dissuade them from doing it. Other times I might scowl or glower or somesuch. After that, I'm told I have a good sense of dryish humor. The truth is I sound much drier in written text than I am in person. I'm usually smiling and laughing and generally having a fine time in my human form. Oh, I'm also usually playing a guitar and singing, so I suppose people might notice that. It does not trouble me in the least that my profile is so obstensibly verbose. Go to your own damn Edit Profile page, at the top you will note that these diminuitive dollops of discourse are clearly and intentionally labeled as 'Essays,' not by myself, but by those fancy Harvard Math Grads. If my long-windedness perturbs you, your two most obvious courses of action for aleviation would be to either contact the snobby statisticians themselves or to simply get over it.

Here goes...

(A)1984 by George Orwell, (and its debatable polar opposite) Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, The Chronicles of Naria by CS.Lewis (and not just because they're being redone, I frankly liked the BBC editions from 20 years ago just fine, and not because I like Christ, I've just always liked the books), a slew of Descartes (most notably his Meditations on first philosophy), Sartre, Hume and Kant that I read for school and that I respect highly but don't read for pleasure (I'm mostly allied with Sartre, but this is up for debate, feel free to bring it up in conversation, I'm still pretty new to philosophy stuff, but I'd welcome any discourse you have inside you); I'm also into YA books that make me seem silly and immature like those by Lemony Snickett, also Lewis Carol's Through the Looking Glass is a favorite of mine. It's been a while since I read him, but Chuck Palahniuk should be mentioned also, Fight Club and Choke were excellent and I have yet to read his autobiographical-type book, but I really should.

(B)I don't see many movies honestly. The last thing I saw in a theatre was a documentary on Claus Nomi. Other than that I see the stuff my roommates bring home or watch on TV. I don't have any passion for film at all. But don't let that put you off, if you're super into film, I would be more than happy to go and see many movies with you.

(C)Radiohead, Belle and Sebastian, Grandaddy, The Flaming Lips, The Moldy Peaches, The Shasming Pumpkins(And I realized my dyslexia had taken over here before I published this profile but decided to leave it this way consciously because I thought it might be endearing to the right person. Then some asshole made fun of me for it so I had to come and write this disclaimer. Clearly, I am a fan of the Smashing Pumpkins; and if you don't find it in the least bit adorable that I am embracing my dyslexia, then you can kindly cram it up your nose), The Adjective Nouns, Portishead, Failure, Interpol, REM, The Clash, The Ramones, The Strokes, Weezer, Hot Hot Heat, older Jimmy Eat World, this odd local band from SF called My Revolver (but only because I liked a boy who liked them, which is a ridiculous reason to like a band), Joni Mitchell, The Beatles, The Pixies, The Cure, Led Zeppelin, The Killers (don't hate me), The Weather Report, The Eagles (odd, isn't it?), and my own music, which is also still in its infancy, I mean pretty much right now I suck, but you can hear some of it here: www.ministryofsnob.com This list isn't complete... I'll add more when I remember them.

(D)Top choice would be the burritos from Taqueria Guadelajara on Russia and Mission in San Francisco. I miss those days. Also a big fan of Chow fun and anything else you'd eat with chop sticks, and the macaroni and cheese my mom makes (which is worlds and solar systems and galaxies different from that rot you ate in college)

Jeff. And uh... the five fingers on my right hand, those are the other five things I couldn't live without.

I guess if you wanted a more tangible, objectivist answer, I could say Jeff, my guitar, my piles of my hardcopy writing, the ocean or at least some large body of water nearby. This is actually a really good question. I had to move cross-country recently and I left quite a lot of stuff behind which was presumably just destroyed or sold on my behalf. I'd be lying if I said I do not look back and regret leaving the Paul Frank glasses my roommate gave me for christmas along with just about every book I bought for college. I left under the assumption that because books are heavy they would cost a veritible fortune to ship. I was rather rushed at the end you see and it was not brought to my attention until much later and after I was back in the devil's country that there are special 'media' rates for books and music media and the like. Oh sick fate! Oh cruel watchers! That I be cursed to live without so many tomes of drivel! No seriously though, those books I left behind really make me sad. I hope someone else reads them. But aside from the part of me that clings to that regret like a sloth to a conifer, it was a very zen-ish sort of ordeal and I learned I don't need *that* much to carry on with.

"We've got so much to leave, but that's not what makes this right."

Swords, Final Fantasy, Magic, Demons, Mythology, Money and how ever I will make some, Alcohol and how Alcoholism runs in my family, a lot like heart disease and cancer, you know evolution solidified, Insomnia and if it is a serious concern or not, it may be, words that sound pleasant together, Zombies, climbing trees, fractal patterns, myself?, the Spider and the Fly, Guitars, the Moon, and You. I spend a great deal of time thinking about you. .The reasons why when I look at my own profile it says I'm only 92% compatible with myself, which might not be that far off from the truth as I probably do strangle myself dry 8% of the time.

Drinking myself pished in front of my computer whilst writing bad poetry and experimental fiction while I should have been looking for a job the whole time. No one eggs me on here. My adverturous nature is stagnating. Save me. Let's go roll down hills in shopping carts at three in the morning or crash old people's parties and dance like mental patients or hell, you could help me get rid of these fucking McDonald's gift certificates that my father thinks I find useful--we could go downtown and buy fifty cheeseburgers and feed pigeons and homeless people. I dunno, let's just go do something for fuck's sake.

that I'm a pretty open person. I wanted to put in one of my adjective boxes at the bottom of this page that I am Clandestinely Compassionate, because I am and it felt like that would be character defining. Oh well. Also, I'm really proud of my cowlicks. Seriously. They're perfect and I wouldn't trade them for anything. I really like cemetaries. And not in a goth way. I grew up behind one and so learned to ride my bike, played with my dog and climbed trees therein. I think they're peaceful, beautiful and I feel safer when I'm on a plot (vampires and the immortals from highlander can't hurt me there). See how open I am? The biggest thing I'll admit is that I'm not infalliable. I get put in my place all the time, and I'm getting to be pretty humble for it. I'm working on where a healthy self-esteem fits in once you've given up on an over-inflated ego. It's certainly an enigma.

you're the grounded type. I want to be the ecentric one, so generally I'm not looking to know anyone more left field than myself in any intimate capacity. Crazy ass friends are fine though.

Also those people who are just raging insomniacs like me are welcomed to get personal. I'm frequently looking for an audience or someone to discuss things with or someone to climb trees with or someone to fall asleep with. I'm a cuddle slut. It's very easy to get into bed with me. For sleeping, you perv. I'm looking for lots of things, talk to me. And again, the sentence fragments are ok here because of how this box is labeled. Get over it.

AIM: LeviathanDragoon e-mail: PyramidNinny@aol.com