If Blogs Were Instead Called "Web Diaries"...

half the population of male bloggers would have never existed. Gender neutrality: a good thing.

The Avenue to The Revenue

my goal in the next few days is to explain how in the world i went from being a person obsessed with dissecting the excrutiating minutia and nuance of all my favorite artists (ok, bands and film makers) while pursuing an interesting, mildly promising, creative and inspiring career as a journalist (pardon the run-on: i'm only now rediscovering how to write) to where i am now - a tax lawyer. well maybe not a tax lawyer just yet. there's still hope that i move back to ny to work in entertainment law (sadly this is my light at the end of the tunnel). however, as documented in a previous post - i will now proceed to live my life exactly the way i want to. porn industry lawyer? wine lawyer? everything's on the table. i'm unshackled. the path from the avenue to the revenue? shit ain't paved yet.

This Blog

check back periodically (yes, i'm speaking to you, no one). i plan to try to be interesting and provocative. lord knows there's a side of me that's utterly suppressed in law school. me and you will have our imaginary conversation for the world to see. i've known you all my life. you're always there when no one else is.

Resolutions

to walk around naked and not give half a shit. because life's too damn short to base your decisions on the reactions of others. selfish? yea, but i don't believe in the afterlife so i'm living the next 46 years exactly the way i want to. sports.

Zygote

A poem to start things off: 

I masturbate in the bed in which I was conceived. My lust ungarnered, my sweat and semen in the same sheets as my unborn brother. Brothers and uncles. Fathers, brothers, and uncles, lying in the same bed unconceived. Generations will rest here and be soiled and go unsoiled as they are spared the suspense. Hell, they're only in the air for a couple seconds and then they're gone like the 1986 Challenger or Haley's Comet or my childhood. When I retreat to my bed to avoid the world I'm looking at you to pollinate me from afar, never knowing of the declining count with which you have to work. At least you have your young to count before you release them, because it's not so high, and they won't be so high. A family bush...imagined only...not present, existing merely in depassioned lives. We'll grow here together and rejoice as a unit, declaring ourselves overwrought with emotion and unable to get the hell out of there and stop imagining and start talking to others in the Laundromat.