Hel­lo ! Wel­come to spike’s niche pres­ence on the inter­webs, my bright white mind­space“ if you will. It’s a per­son­al blog + jour­nal, where I wax ance­do­tal ennui into palat­able pixel­lat­ed screen as can­vas, or rather my life as an art instal­la­tion, in an apart­ment gallery with a body out­line in chalk on the ground. Bring your own organ­ic wine and some cave cheese if you please“.

This is the brain of my heart, and the heart of my brain, coa­lesc­ing in a sushi bur­ri­to of light and self sus­tain­ing suc­cor. I need this just as much as you do, and you do, whether you admit it to me or to the world it makes lit­tle dif­fer­ence.

Why is this ? Sim­ply put, this is a bas­tion of self aware­ness, per­son­al and up front, full of mis­chief and may­hem, reflec­tion and direc­tion, my secret plans, my spy reports, and very of course what I ate for lunch yes­ter­day, some ran­dom strange con­ver­sa­tion I had with a stranger, or a review of a book you might have already read way more than I have. A book which you either real­ly loved, hat­ed, or wait­ed for the movie adap­ta­tion. How do I artic­u­late life into a blog for­mat any­way, how do I con­vey it in such a way that you would find it read wor­thy with­out want­i­ng to cringe, eye­roll, get annoyed at how beau­ti­ful, love­ly, inspir­ing, or fright­en­ing I’m try­ing so hard/​not hard at all to be at this moment of con­ver­gence ? What­ev­er might come, and what­ev­er form it comes in, I pray you appre­ci­ate my exer­tion, my atten­tion to life, my per­son­al thought life how­ev­er uncouth and unre­fined, beau­ti­ful and hideous it might be. It’s imper­a­tive that you come to under­stand that it was for me, self­ish­ly and remorse­less­ly the whole entire time, this love affair isn’t car­nal and flesh­ly, but there’s a puri­ty to it.


I’m just your aver­age enhanced human, etch­ing out an exis­tence in this game of life.

I’m a poet from the city of Chica­go, who enjoys writ­ing the thought life (and the writ­ing life, too) on the dai­ly, wax­ing anec­do­tal entries like a ther­a­pist mak­ing record­ings regard­ing their var­i­ous clients into a audio record­ing device. Thus this is poor mans ther­a­py for me, and my own client ? Is me, ana­lyz­ing, assess­ing, and rec­om­mend­ing dosages of pos­i­tive, change, uplift. And that’s where I dif­fer with say a true ther­a­pist, who will have you re-expe­ri­ence the neg­a­tive as if that were to heal you and do you an ounce of good (it doesn’t). I want you to know things, I enjoy express­ing the essence of me with­out force feed­ing you that, instead allow you to come in no as a tourist but a friend and to have a look around of your own voli­tion. Not at gun­point, nor a bribe of taco bell coupons and flashi­ness (which has worked won­ders in the past as my nefar­i­ous forms of self mar­ket­ing). This is sim­ply an art instal­la­tion of my thought life, and the pixel­lat­ed screen my can­vas, the paint is the tumul­tuous ennui of an exis­tence you oth­er­wise would be igno­rant of. It’s not a burn­ing desire to viral­ly spread and amass a cult of lotus eater fol­low­ers, either, although that’s been my retire­ment plan 🙂 (that was my joke).

I start­ed out ear­ly in life in art and writ­ing, and being a nat­ur­al cre­ative was only, well, nat­ur­al. We didn’t have inter­nets, and life was way more beau­ti­ful then, pur­er, full of alive­ness and ener­gies I can’t begin to describe. Far more roman­tic, and peo­ple weren’t such scared lit­tle rab­bits afraid of their own shad­ows, or their own voic­es, or to argue those inti­mate, deep argu­ments with­out retreat or sur­ren­der, or calm down“ the moment it begins turn­ing inter­est­ing. Like the fake news media, it seems that peo­ple want to be fake peo­ple, who would pre­fer to stare into screens and tune out the world than love life and be spon­ta­neous.

This is all I had to say on the sub­ject of myself, please enjoy.