A note from the editor: I’ve been trying to write this stupid fucking blog post for like a week now, and it’s just fucking shit. The point of it is I like philosophy and I want you to like it too. I want everyone to like it and do it because I think that would… More Do Philosophy, Don’t Study It
Life is pretty nuts. If you just consider what’s happening, what’s going on here… this shit is WILD. I think that’s what most excites and frustrates me about being alive – the possibilities are endless and yet we engage in systemized dogshit whirlpools of offensive stupidity. Like, it’s offensive how stupid we are. But we’re also awesome. Take… More A Blog About Why I Don’t “Get It.” Alternate Title: Wow. Tertiary Title: Brains of Steel
It’s funny. I wrote this whole thing about letting myself be authentic and how that enables me to be drawn to my purpose. If I’m real enough with myself, I don’t need to find my calling, it just happens. I do it. So I wrote that and then, for all of the two weeks since then, I’ve… More My Monthly Mid-life Crisis
Be yourself, right? That’s what people say. I like this one because it’s so damn cliche it’s hard to access on a personal level. When people say “Be yourself!” my reaction tends to be like, “Yea, thanks. Not possible to be anything else. Beat it, hippie.” But once you feel what it means to be… More Finding Authenticity: A Guide to Dopeness
AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Haha, so what’s the point? I mean, I really wonder a lot about that. Not like, “What’s the point of going on anymore?” I’m past that. It’s more like, “What’s the point of getting so worked up about stuff and things?” Caring is one thing. Being a freakazoid spaz-face is another. Facebook is fucking… More Blitzkrieg Blabber Post
Alphabet soup. Tourniquet loop. Flip-flopping summer troop with Albanian ethnic roots. Did the word “diary” come from a mispronunciation of “diarrhea?” The words don’t matter to illiterates, bro. They can’t read. Tell ’em on the mountain, or whatever. If I were a spaceman, I’d be Spiff. I’d have lunch with Taylor Swift: Finger sandwiches and big… More Frank’s Log IV
My voice. My own fucking voice. Well, who knows? That one fret on that one string of that one guitar effects a certain note, but we wouldn’t say that fret has its own voice. That one key thingy on that one clarinet doesn’t have its own voice. The instrument is the voice. So what frickin… More Frank’s Log III
If you’ve ever read Hemingway, you know it needn’t be pretty. I’ve read a book and a half. The last time my shoes grew too tight, I can’t remember. That’s the thing about life – you don’t recall the past unless it hurts. Or even if you harken back to pleasant memories, the pain of separation… More Frank’s Log II
If you’ve ever read Hemingway, you know it needn’t be pretty. I’ve read a book and a half. The last time my shoes grew too tight, I can’t remember. That’s the thing about life – you don’t recall the past unless it hurts. Or even if you harken back to pleasant memories, the pain of separation… More Frank’s Log II