30 Cambridge, United States
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My self-summary
Bookish weirdo trying to go pro.
What I’m doing with my life
Getting paid a small stipend to read (i.e. PhD program in English lit)
I’m really good at
Hopscotch and hater-hatin'
The first things people usually notice about me
Eyeballs, bored but eager to be proven wrong
The six things I could never do without
Warm coats, testy kooks, curmudgeonly traitors, intellectual bludgeonings, people who listen and people who don't, wackos, wayfarers, getting worked up, and waking from bad dreams.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Too much, too often (alas): timing the crazy, mistimed normalcy, arboreal temptations, earnest endeavors, the secrets kept by sideways glances, how to outsource a stream of consciousness, how to tone down my penchant for scaring people away, personable pretentiousness, capitalistic constructions and what to do about their phoenix-like capacity for renewal, marked displeasure and how to make it better, consumer-driven desires and discovering the detours, the awesome arbitrariness of attraction, asinine alliteration and when I'll get sick of being such an ass, the meager, the malnourished, the marvelously mundane, how mum could be the word when everyone's talking, chiastic closeness and figurative closetedness, how to meet the challenges of chiaroscuro without feeling cornered, the redundancy of feeling pissed off at passing, ineffable affinities and how smiling doesn't do them justice, the you the singer sings to, the me I mean when I say hello, indecorous formalities and the far more dignified decorum of the dirty & downtrodden, fallen oppositions and the provisionality of paradise, seductive solutions, the metabolic advantages of mental doggedness, how to chase down non-sequiturs, reductive revolutions and their necessity notwithstanding, collective bargaining, anachronistic vigilance and whether watchers grow weary of watching, incurious sibilance and what to make of those who boo out of boredom, the banality of banality, generative syntax, forced conversation as an alternative to actual force, foreplay as a lifestyle choice with endlessly edifying frustrations, consummating the damn thing, the mechanics of spontaneous combustion, where we'd be without commas and the breakdown of grammar endured during traumas, why I downplay so decisively my bent toward indecision, the drama that ensues from accidental elision, the allure of Sunday mornings and Saturday nights, sappy surrogates for fumbling futures, hard-hitting humanity and its mystery bruises, the difference between treetops and tabernacles, how to historicize hunger pangs, when it's wrong to sidestep the shit, where this is going, and whether we're there yet.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I'm compulsively honest.
You should message me if
you're easily amused
you'd care to comment