Art is for Losers

This site is me but it's not me. Both at the same time. These are my words but only a selection/not all of them.

If we were friends, really close friends then you'd already know this shit. You wouldn't be here looking.

I'm donald, born in may of 1969 to a mother and father. they were married and had been for a while. I'm the last of three children so new babies, although always being special (so says the brochure new parents get in the mail) weren't really that special. It had been done before.

I grew up in georgia. on farmland. farmland that wasn't farmed. It was merely picturesque.

I went to an ultraconservative baptist college where I learned that Jesus is in the details. The wisp of smoke as it hovers above your head right before you pass out, dropping your cigarette, burning yet another hole in the seagrass mat you use in your bedroom to cover the planked floors. The first gulp of a jack and coke as it hits the back of your throat and you just know that tonight is going to be one of those kinds of nights. The smell of your sheets the morning after you fall in love for the hundredth time and all of the promise that morning brings you as you snuggle the pillow and dream about picket fences and two car garages.

I live in washington, dc and work in publishing. not quite my high school fantasy involving central park views and london flats but I try not to think about it too much. Dreams are for the young and wicked.


	This site is me but it's not me. Both at the same time. These are my words but only a selection/not all of them. If we were friends, really close friends then you'd already know this shit. You wouldn't be here looking. I'm donald, born in may of 1969 to a mother and father. they were married and had been for a while. I'm the last of three children so new babies, although always being special (so says the brochure new parents get in the mail) weren't really that special. It had been done before. I grew up in georgia. on farmland. farmland that wasn't farmed. It was merely picturesque. I went to an ultraconservative baptist college where I learned that Jesus is in the details. The wisp of smoke as it hovers above your head right before you pass out, dropping your cigarette, burning yet another hole in the seagrass mat you use in your bedroom to cover the planked floors. The first gulp of a jack and coke as it hits the back of your throat and you just know that tonight is going to be one of those kinds of nights. The smell of your sheets the morning after you fall in love for the hundredth time and all of the promise that morning brings you as you snuggle the pillow and dream about picket fences and two car garages. I live in washington, dc and work in publishing. not quite my high school fantasy involving central park views and london flats but I try not to think about it too much. Dreams are for the young and wicked.

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