Thank you disillusionment

A new craze has taken over the internet. People feel the absolute need to disclose twenty-five random, little known factoids about themselves.

I shall divulge also.



First, I am in a constant state of flight.

I am an ass-man, for sure.

I have relegated myself to low expectations for others, thus rendering myself constantly impressed.

I sometimes question friendships. I question whether friendships aren't inherently more valuable than any romantic relationship.

I strive to be as benevolent as my deceased grandfather.

Career title: Professional Student. My mother coined this while I was young.

As much as a place can understand a person, Paris gets me.

Violence disgusts me.

One of my favorite feelings is the frosty lungs while running in the winter. I developed this love around a tiny lake in Verdun. Old habits die hard.

I would love to mature into a profession of interest, not wealth.

Bjork calms my soul.

My mother knew more about me in my childhood than I know currently.

My brother is my biggest fan.

I am not a fan of being 'comfortable.' I love to sit properly. I don't enjoy wearing sweat pants, tennis shoes, etc.

My father is a quarter of a million dollars behind in Child Support and South Carolina does not care.

I am terrible at commitment (for dinner plans, etc) so I am making a concerted effort to rectify it.

Today I realized that I have very little uncommon with a homeless man.

I met my future self. I loved him. In this same vein, I have a very unhealthy love for myself.

I love the questions more than I appreciate the responses.

I am not an elephant.

I am passion.

I adore pimento cheese.

I found love under a quilt in a religion class.

Sometimes I ponder a life changed: a different college, a different family. I think I would be the same, no matter the circumstances.

I am not ashamed of my family - although they think otherwise.


I cannot count apparently. I meant for there to exist only twenty-five of these useless facts. I believe that there are currently twenty-six. Oops.

You can combine two of the less significant ones. Pimento Cheese and Bjork can very easily be combined. There is probably nothing better than eating a pimento sandwich while listening to bjork.

You must decide.

she'd scrubbed the bathrooms and made them smell like pine

My mother deserves more.




A lot fucking more.

i learn

For the first time in my life, "Are you always this quiet?"

No. I'm learning how to listen. I'm learning how to listen to myself. For quite some time, I've been lacking direction. Typically I adhere some vague yet powerful mantra to my life. Since high school, I have lived deliberately per Thoreau's instruction. I strove. I achieved. Now, it seems as though living deliberately just is not enough. I've matured beyond.

In this constant quest for truth, I have become a recluse. I must admit that the original motivation was a bit askew but things come full circle. I have made a habit of frequenting a local cafe in order to get back in touch with an old friend, Adam. Adam and I have never been the best of friends, but I enjoy his company. In so doing, I developed a manner of turning inward - I began reading, once again. At first it was solely as a distraction. Quickly, however, I found myself drowning in the text, gasping for air.

Initially, I reread Thoreau. Walden Pond, one of the greatest literary feats of mankind was unable to satiate my appetite. I devoured it. It was quite pleasing to the senses.

I then thumbed through my library of literature. I tried to read something I'd never read. The problem here is that I have read through just about everything that I own at least two or three times. Finding a 'new' fascination was quite the challenge.

Late one night, as I was evaluating the contents of my library, I discovered a Kahlil Gibran book that I had never even opened. As part of a compilation, I pushed it aside attributing its contents to similar processes of thought as his other works.

Boy was I wrong. As I read through Gibran's latest sermon to Isaac, one sentence stood out. Authors usually throw these obnoxious phrases at me, no shame.

March on. Do not tarry.

For the whole of 2009, I will march on. I will not tarry.