A platitude, an irony, a cliche and a proud member.
It's gross to declare your own aphorisms.
And yet it's inelegant to blather on and impolite to be trivial.
Ain't that a catch? No, just a tautology.
We're either sneering or boring. There is nothing between.¹
So clever, eh?
On par for the about me genre — and just you wait for what's to come.
Opinions: my own, of others, on others.
Libel, gospel, brittle mumbles.
If anything, still curious. If nothing, still here. If expert, woof, but they do pay me.
Less demarcated than I've ever been (moot).
Open, but annoyingly fierce. You know the type?
The proverbial white tank top, worn sandals, big mouth, small glass, short stool.
viz., Greco coffee-shop politics style.
But more mystical, perpetually wide-eyed.
¹An ever-recovering cynic, now attempting seriousness.
Then again, I also spend a lot of time hunched over in noise canceling headphones.
A marvelous specimen!
I'm part of a family I love. I'm part of a lineage that continues.
My dad is a contractor. My grandfather was a chef. His father was a fisherman.
²And his father was an allele (etc.²).
Now I have a daughter...
What a fun ball of yarn.
Noxiously nostalgic, but thoughtful. Optimistic, speculative, relatively determined (moot).
Those that are impressed by me and those that inspire me rarely split the check — cardinality redacted.
Pearls before swine before a mirror.
Security by obscurity is obnoxious, but underrated. See above.
It's all derivative, sorry.
For me, for the moment, the flame is dim in music and I'm preoccupied elsewhere: a personal thing, and I'm not sure which — the dimness or the preoccupation — caused which.