39Austin, United States
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My self-summary
Currently rumored to be "the Paz de la Huerta of American letters."

I am decibels, craftsmanship, and disobedience.
Doesn't Drive. Sneaky, but not creepy. Just useful.

Artists who can't tell the difference between themselves & their art run the high risk of being a-holes because you get into a headspace where being an Artist is your excuse for being alive, which implies that you need an excuse for being alive.

Which you don't. So then we're down the rabbit hole of constantly needing validation for something you used to do for joy. And then you're lost.

This song describes my entire life to the degree where I find it painful to even think about:

Look out! I'm just too fake for the world, I know
It's just a game to me, I'm just too fake, you see
I wish I didn't have to be

watch out! I've got too much soul for the world
It's breaking my heart in two, I've got too much soul for you
I don't like it but it's true

It's really pretty when you listen to it. But it is applicable to a weird degree. I fake it so real I'm beyond fake, and I also go too far the other way.

...Yeah, that's a valid take. Print.

Wait, this too. Maybe more than anything:

...And my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward
What I’m doing with my life
I write A) about television for money, and B) novels and short stories for some other reason. Maybe you have heard of A* but you haven't heard of B. Yet.

* (There is a site called Something W/O Pity, for which I have been a staff writer for approx seventeen hundred years. There's a guy named Jacob who is kind of me, but not really me.

If you think he's cool we will get along. I like him too, he's nice.

If not, it's entirely possible we still will get along.) There are twenty Jacobs and you're likely to hate at least one of them, but none of them is actually me. I'm saving that for the boy who's the one. Meanwhile did I mention how cute you are? Because you're just so cute.

Otherwise, it's things like this.
I’m really good at
"...Four tiny rings in his right ear leaned against the wall of the armory, holding his dog on a leash, a sign hanging from his neck:

The first things people usually notice about me
My sense of entitlement. My obsession with diagnosing strangers; particularity about etiquette. What I'm told is the gift of humor. My hatred of karaoke, pool, bowling.

Constant threats of violence but no real action. Ability to bring The OC into any conversation you've got. The constant drinking and chain-smoking. You think I'm funny but I'm not that funny; you think I'm cute but I'm not that cute.

I spent the last fifteen years on how cute I am. I'm not that cute, and I'm not too interested in selling on that currency anymore. I am often fat, my weight varies by about 100 pounds, and I don't actually give much of a damn about that. It's a whole teenage hustler deal and it involves extensive social networks so whatever you think you can add to my lifestyle? I've got six of those, so really I want somebody who covers multiple bases. I need you to be Olympic-level at something, I don't care what it is. Just be driven. That is all.
Six things I could never do without
A Canadian cowboy, a ninja, a private eye, a secret agent, a bootlegger, a mercenary, a bodyguard, a caveman, a victim of the Holocaust, a Vietnam vet, a World War II vet, a corrupt cop, and a lumberjack. Also, raised by wolves; raised by native Canadians; the reincarnation of a warrior from a race of humanoid dog people; he was at Hiroshima when the bomb fell, and he's saddled with five children. One died in utero, one is an evil clone.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Television demographics and production; avoiding writing; prison recidivism; the future is always better than the past; celebrity babies; giant babies on Maury Povich; astrology is bullshit yet always right; believing everything and knowing everything is a lie; being angry but not so angry that you overlook what's important or make it about you. All activism dies in the moment of the ego.

Teenagers with guns, in school uniforms, setting everything on fire.
On a typical Friday night I am
Finishing up a deadline or spreadsheet or whatever before they start bugging me to party; dressing kids up like historical figures; performing an ad-libbed one-man show about the last days of Kitty Genovese, King Ferdinand, or Brandon Flowers' questionable sexual ethics; making friends with yet one more black bisexual feminist playwright; explaining to some poor dude how it's gonna be when we're married.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I'm a real good sex person! I do it all the different ways.

But honestly, it's that I'm really into guys that are poly, atheist/pagan; generally all those kinky geek gamers that quote Monty Python nonstop and think Terry Pratchett is funny.

Which bites, because I am none of those things. But you know the ones. And hopefully you are one.
You should message me if
You lack discernment. If you know that what's most important about you is not that simple. If you understand that being smart is handed to us, but being good is handed to nobody. If you want to be a superhero as badly as you should.

If you are a Sagittarius with an IQ in the 150+ range and possess the other half of this golden amulet.
The two of us