So Many Questions 1-

The other day I saw a documentary about Will.i. am. I don’t know why. I was all of a sudden on this channel where a documentary about was playing. I think it was E! He documentary then did that mind trick. That elusive mind trick. It convinced me. That I liked

I really don’t like that guy’s songs. I don’t have anything against him. I just don’t like his music. I find it repetitive. And dull. And whatever.

The thing is, after watching explaining the deep meaning behind his songs, (which I denied existed, even) I began to slowly like them. The effect has wore off, but I still have to ask this question.

And let’s go ahead and consider this the first official post from “So Many Questions”.

Does the explanation of an art piece affect your perception of the same? Do you find yourself more prone to a certain kind of art once you understand it? How do the people you frequent affect your likes and dislikes?

Think about it and hit me back.
I would love to hear your opinion.


Every once in a while.

Look I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for everything.
I’m sorry for not being quite as fast or quite as strong as the man you deserve.
I’m sorry my mind is such a mess all the time and I have trouble staying right here, right now, almost always.
I’m sorry I’m such a sine wave when it so comes to feelings and I’m sorry that your corners and mine are so separated from each other that it feels like there’s an asymptote between them.
I’m sorry I’m not around when you want someone to talk to and I’m sorry that means you sometimes don’t think of me as someone who will always be there.
I’m sorry you’re far away and I’m over here and mostly we just flutter around the same radius.
I’m sorry I’m impulsive and dumb and blind and deaf and oh so very taken.
I’m sorry for the sun as I am sorry for the wind and the little forest remnants that brush against your face every once in a while stretching in their microscopic timelines the moment so that they, in their own special way, can live touching you forever.
I’m sorry I don’t touch you enough.
I’m sorry we don’t talk enough.
I’m sorry we didn’t meet at the time we were supposed to meet and I’m sorry that clocks go so very slow and I’m sorry that clocks exist.
I’m sorry my eyes avert yours when you look at me with the force of a thousand comets and I feel like the defendant on a case that can’t possibly be won and I’ll get the life sentence for sure.
I’m sorry I’m such a lousy lawyer.
I’m sorry I can’t possibly defend you all the time even though I’m more than sure that you’re as strong as a thousand hurricanes and a million drops of rain all at once.
I’m sorry I’m so small.
I’m sorry I’m so young.
I’m sorry I can’t see the future as I am sorry that most times I can’t see the past and I’m doomed to run on a gramophone; jumping the needle and skipping tracks.
I’m sorry big parties make me sick.
I’m sorry I looked at you.
I’m sorry i stare both at you and at you and me and at any combination of you with almost anything else.
I’m sorry days break and nights fall as I am sorry that fire flies, phones booth and dinner rolls.
I’m sorry I can’t teleport.
I’m sorry I can’t drive boats or planes or horses or spaceships and dock them right next to your house holding a bouquet of whatever you want.
I’m sorry I don’t know what you want.
I’m sorry I’m getting old fast as I’m sorry I’m going to die too soon and I’m sorry we have lived for so long.
For so very long.
Look I’m sorry.

The non staying club.

I’ve got to tell you something and I’m being dead serious about it. I’m perplexed by something I just discovered. Let me give you some context.

The other day I was finishing my read of Sleepwalk with me and other painfully true stories by one of my personal comedy heroes: Mike Birbiglia. He was 32 when he wrote that book, which is an awesome book. I maintain that it is no longer necessary for me to write an autobiography, since his life seems to have been so close to mine.

But then I started thinking, what would I write if I wrote an autobiography? Should I start right away, so that I don’t forget things? Will I remember things more brightly or more darkly? Had the fact that Birbiglia was so young when he wrote it have anything to do with his perception of his adolescence and childhood?

So I started mentally arranging the memories of my life and looking at significant moments and I’m drawing a blank on the elementary/middle school section. I can remember the time I spent with my family, but not at school.

And then it hit me. I think my mind blocked my memories of early school.

You know, because of bullying and stuff.

It is weird when you realize you have blocked an entire part of your mind because how do you know? How am I sure? What if I’m just very forgetful?

I need to dwell in this stuff for a while. I also just recently diagnosed myself with extreme social anxiety. I made this expert diagnosis because I just left a party I just could not be in any longer. There were too many people.

I have never actually gotten how to stay at really big parties. I know people normally do it. I kind of understand the charm, I’ve just never really applied it to myself. I do try sometimes, but it’s mostly when I’m medicated with either drugs or alcohol. Drugs don’t make things much better anyway, and alcohol doesn’t let me drive home. So like…there’s that.

And like now I’m here.

Pool Review #2 (The Constant Gravity Inducing Non-Swim Pool)

The world of pools is an intricately labyrinth in itself. There are interminable varieties of pool. The are endless pools, which are not really endless, just misunderstood. There are Olympic pools that actually are not particularly good at any sport, and have never been gods of anything. Many deep ends are actually only deep enough for small children to swim in, and some deep ends hold dark corners never before seen by human eyes.

In my infinite search for more pools to review, I came across the most perplexing of these specimens: the constant gravity inducing non-swim pool, known in some countries as “the shower”. What to say about the myriad of songs that have been written in the confines of a constant gravity inducing non-swim pool? It seems to be the primary provider of creative outbursts. Wasn’t Lincoln in the shower when he thought about freeing the slaves? Wasn’t Kubrick in the shower when he carefully laid out the intricate maze that is the hotel from the shining? Wasn’t Adele in the shower when she came up with “Rolling In The Deep”?


This beauty.

Indeed. The CGINSP, as it is called in certain underground circles, holds much mystique in our daily lives. It is the birthplace of the soul, and the final resting place of the infinitely sapient. It creates and destroys heroes and nemesis alike. It cleans us. It binds us.

By far, the most comfortable feature of the CGINSP is its built-in temperature control. With a simple flick of the wrist, you may find yourself in the hottest of infernos, or in the coldest tundras. Regulating this factor, in many CGINSP’s is an art by itself. A science, if you will. The subtle change in angles can create the most varied temperatures.

I find a shower relaxing after a hard day of writing articles about daily life. It’s quite soothing. Often, the hot drops of water invite me to imagine a mid summer rain, the sun shining, and running through a garden sprinkler. It is a sensation unlike any other.

It so happens that there exists a tiny non-swim pool inside my shower. It’s there for the sole purpose of awaiting feet expecting a nice, deep exposure to water. It fills solely through hydraulic exposure, and it’s way more portable than your average swimming pool.


I’ve written many of my songs in CGINSP’s. And still today, I maintain that showers are the most comfortable way of being inside a pool without actually being inside a pool.

I give this pool a 9/10.

If you have a pool you need reviewed, please don’t hesitate to contact the author of this article at