A Poet. An Artist (pronounced ar-teest).
A Lover of Words, Men, Passion, Kindness, Hope, Generosity, Chaos, Calm, Coffee, Literature, History, Knowledge, Philosophy, Creativity, Technology, Cinema, Music, Perfect Taxonomies, Muppets and Puppetry, Improv and Sketch Comedy, Animation, Swords, Legos, Maps, Lamenting, Pondering, Yearning, Hoping, Dreaming, Scheming, Writing, Singing, Sharing, Collaborating, Creating, Driving, Exploring, Traveling, Calling, Play, Confidence, Goofiness, Men again, Sadness, and so much more
Against all expectations, I actually do not enjoy talking about myself. I DO love to talk about the things I love, and what does that mean about me? When I try to define myself, all I can think of is the work of others.. which by that very nature means they cannot BE me.
I am multifaced, nuanced, complicated, yet simple.
Pretentious, an enjoyer of the finer things, yet relatable and down to earth.
I have a complicated and messy family history, yet am a family man.
The human mind is incapable of comprehending the full complexity of a person, regardless of how hard you try. To bring back the reflection metaphor, we are but mirrors of what we love, flawed reflections of everyone we've every known.
Let me end this with a totally original, self-written poem...
Who is that girl boy I see
Staring straight back at me?
Why is my reflection someone I don't know?
Somehow, I cannot hide
Who I am, though I've tried
When will my reflection show,
who I am inside?