My life is not biographical. It's a liar's best estimate at first person narrative told for my own benefit. I apologize for any ire that draws. I'm kind of vulgar, kind of stupid, but my need is in mutual aspirations of shared successes.

So here it is.

I'm a professional amateur and renaissance man for the bedroom set of a generation terrified of bored boardrooms. I question rhetorically, foolishly, and with a naivete that underscores a knowledge shared freely in unknown places through wiki and dictionaries of new slang. My etymology is echolalia and madness.

My poetic prose of memes is carried in the wind to ears that hear nothing but my dull, asynchronous tapping on this glassy ocean of shared words. This is our new information age. There isn't one Martin Luther, but an army of coders and funding from Gates, Page, and Jobs with all giving reference to their namesake.

My foolish rage and childlike frivolity are nothing more than bastions of freedom. They're my own hell and a lighthouse over the waters of a growing ocean in a changing climate. I don't fear the rising tide. I fear a future where I am left alone to tend to my own light on this empty island of the soul.

If you have seen and heard these words, I thank you. They may be my only gift. I progressively fail to succeed and it is a false burden to carry. I want to carry hope, peace, and light. May my words be the worst you have read today.