Writings

The scene wasn’t pretty. Me, in my boxers, unwashed, undressed, and sweating against a humid DC summer. I had just congealed in front of the computer for an amount of time well past inordinate. Shuffling pixels around enough to trick my poor monkey mind into thinking I was accomplishing something...

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  • March 8, 2017

A plotter, a planner, a doubting calculator. Keys stuck – pressed too hard in Ohio. Attics hold secrets and humidity. Futons creak with photos taken a year ago. Its now more act than action. more stage than show. “What do you want?” is the echoing poison, the black crystal I...

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  • September 1, 2016

So, I’ve been meaning to write this post for a very long time. I have been searching for a job for roughly a year. I thought about doing the post in parts and pieces as I interviewed with companies like Facebook, Dropbox, and Palantir, but I never had a solid...

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  • September 22, 2014

Interview 1 The phone wouldn’t ring. It was time for my first interview with Google. An empty notepad ready to go. My notes prepared with delicious anecdotes and resume accomplishments. The latest brainteaser jostling in my head. Any potential stress knocked out by a jaunt at the gym. I was...

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  • October 29, 2013

The graveyard is filled with lovers The bars are filled with bones We search for hearts in empty cages And always go home alone A Mausoleum lover Silent as a tomb I’ve been dead already Since the day you left the room We make love to corpses Our hands unclean...

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  • October 28, 2012

We’d rather be distracted than informed. Entertained opposed to educated. We have a congress full of millionaires, yet we call them representative. What we consider news isn’t even obligated to be true ( It must only sell ad time.) The food we eat doesn’t even have to be labeled imitation....

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  • July 28, 2012

I once walked with my Father every Sunday. When other children filled wooden pews listening to robed men and choral prayers, I held my Father’s hand and we listened to the world. He would let me choose a direction. I liked South the best, if felt like going home. On...

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  • March 28, 2012

The last kiss. His lips were like the relationship. Cracked and dry. The wind was bitter and the car vents were sweet. Only because they were warm, like his lips. She said it was hard to leave him. But she did that in August on a blue scooter. It was...

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  • March 30, 2011

The sacks of cells you call Self Realize, most of them aren’t yours. The slime of centuries has made home in your gut, your folds, your soul. They set up tenements and housing corps to handle trash, parking and plumbing. They find comfort in your crevices not even aware of...

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  • March 30, 2011

Let us exchange the exhale between burgundy sheets of memory. The air is Toledo cold and your room has no carpet yet. That ache you feel is January when the Lasts will come. Panera conversations grow stale after Halloween lessons and unwatched Apatow. Fiction and dress up are all I...

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  • March 30, 2011