This is an arrangement of my professional episodes with economic institutional hierarchies to which I submitted my willpower for currency rendered based upon output per hour.



July 2014 - November 2014

I was an unpaid media intern after being unemployed since PacSun hired me, let me work 3 hours on Black Friday & didn't call me back about my next shift in November of 2012. I dropped out of community college two weeks later. At one point I taught guitar lessons to three students over eight months, all the while I continued to practice a craft I didn't know would end up feeding me, volunteering as audio for Bethel, the church I was born into, every other weekend eventually graduating to mixing every Sunday, splitting my time with two churches. Inevitably, the old leadership at Bethel church told me to choose, so I went with my family who attended & my brother who started work as production manager at South Hills church. My tasks included: doing audio every Sunday, dealing with visual or hardware objectives for which I had not even a context to understand, stomaching one-thousand anxious-depressive butterflies and swallowing down my creeping atheism on any given day, and best of all having obtuse conversations with Christians.


January 2015 - August 2015

When part-time but lucrative work at Bethel church passed me by, I relented to working as an independent contractor paid by paper delivered, not for my time, in a sleepless job with a high-turnover because I had been defrauded of $500. The route took me 6 hours to complete my first night-morning. By the time it was summer, I could finish just before the sun peaked over the horizon. I had to pay for my own supplies, and in the month of my 21st birthday became so sick with insomnia I couldn't eat or drink much, or remember anything really. With the help of my family, I made it through and didn't miss a shift, because I couldn't, because I wouldn't be allowed to work the following morning.


July 2015 - January 2016

I gave my 30-day notice to a The McClatchy Company subsidiary after the unthinkable happened: I got gainfully employed based off words I posted online. I cried in the parking lot after getting hired in the room. Full-time work at a dollar above minimum wage somehow without benefits post-Affordable Care Act couldn't make me happier. I was beyond excited to work and be bad at new things and help the bottom line and get to know new people and help small local business and live through an interestingly novel time of my life. Highlights include: wanting to punch my authoritarian coworker who wanted to smear paint on my shirt again after yesterday's bullying, confiding in two potheads I smoke also and being told by Paintman "if I catch you at work high...", smashing my big toe on New Year's Eve lifting 60-pound cans of paint because I wanted to work on selling them next and Paintman kind of not caring, and being laid off for being "despondent" after a month of literally running (with a smashed-toe limp) through the company's entire inventory; I was let go I believe because Gríma "Paintman" Wormtongue told the boss I recently came into money from my grandfather's death. I did not yet have the dignity to plead my case; I took my fateful employment for what it was, mystical and magical to appear, gone in a mysterious and frustrating blink.


February 2016 - March 2017

A year after being passed over for a part-time job, I began work once again as an independent contractor, this time being paid well for my time at sparse gigs, at a minimum of $75, finally earning money for sound-craft. Three months later I found myself working for $14/hour 29-hours-a-week as a temporary production assistant after a vacancy appeared. I worked for a brutish electrician-athlete-construction man whose impudence over never becoming more than interim production manager eventually broke frayed relationships and he was fired, which left me alone to head a department for which I was only an assistant for three interminable months. Battling insecurities as I essentially managed a team of volunteers and their schedule across two venues, filling gaps myself, running an office untrained in a building that didn't care enough about my humanity to post my photo on the website or announce my arrival when two others received a loud welcome from the pulpit, getting on the nerves of other departments as I clumsily navigated everyone's audio-visual needs the best I could, all while time-managing my no-more-than-29-hours to progress the church's audio-visual capabilities as much as I could whenever I wasn't always putting out fires; none of this, of course, was in my job description. When the new production manager was found, I met him in my former office and told him everything I've written here, he replied "sounds like you've been overworked" then the very next week made me work a 12-hour day, then a week after on November 9th 2016 yelled at me a weird biblical speech for working too many hours and, much more important than God and Godly principles, I got him yelled at. I got laid off after three weeks of loathing, then softened and said "I'll work with you until you find my replacement." Three months later, they had and I was fired for showing up 30 minutes late to a gig for which I thought I was 30 minutes early.


May 2017 - Present

Every concert produced in the small towns where I live and am from has ties to one audio company called CPS Incorporated, and I am honored to work with them to support a bastion of culture in a literal and figurative desert. From legendary venues that produced touring bands to restaurants with live music, festivals, schools, hotels, churches, the local arena and event centers, CPS Inc. has its fingers in all the blackbird pies. I found and find the work exhilarating, to create unique mobile set-ups from scratch each and every day is extraordinary to accomplish, and satisfyingly tragic to tear down each night. But then there's also the joy of routine, working with schools I attended and working annual events, laboring alongside the same lighting/video & event center crews, managing resources in home bases; it's the happiness in repetitive duties I found at Bethel, except I can curse and be dressed how I like and live out my weirdo eccentricities even more-so than ever before. This job has been, is and I hope will continue feeding me in every way a job can, an answer to the trajectory of my career.


June 2017 - October 2017

Two part-time jobs at the same time, one hand washes the other, with one satisfying in one regard where the other is lacking, ideally. No hard emotions come up beside a gentle gnawing uneasiness that stuck with me during my somewhat gainful employment with the conservative national business. Retail involves salesmanship involves financing involves manipulation of markets on an individual basis, meaning one simply must help "us" to hit a certain number in the low tens of thousands or "the store is not doing well", all jargon & bureaucracy I still cannot wrap my head around. I mostly stood silently working with my hands on frames I did not get to carve or emboss, only assemble, avoiding masculine energies and focusing on feminine energy as I spoke soft & politely with customers. It was hard to reckon both schedules, and I simply don't know how other poor people do it. Eventually after two other part-timers transitioned out of the strict pecking order and I was still being condescended to for taking time off to work audio for weeklong fairs, imperfections in ability and disposition, and also in what could possibly be discerned as impenetrable jokes(?), I vacated my position unceremoniously in a way I had been, I figured, dumped inhumanly by businesses in the past. I only regret doing so in that the job was given me based on a friendship with an employee, not only that but a friend hired similarly came to be my coworker and I left him to hold my beer, so to speak. I had an event to work with CPS for which I didn't remember to get time off before the imposed three-week deadline, a small but significant mistake. I miss the income, and camaraderie with approximately two persons, not much else.






Business & Finance
Civics & Political Science
Culinary Arts
Electrical Engineering
Game Theory
Philosophy & Logic
Photography & Film
Queer & Women's Studies
Religion & Theology
Sociology & Philanthropy



I am 5’10.75” tall, white (West European, Irish / Scottish / Welsh with an Englishman’s last name), American (specifically Washingtonian), cis-gendered male, heterosexual (a 1 on the Kinsey Scale), agnostic, an egalitarian, a humanist, liberal, a Democrat, a communist, a socialist, an idealist, a conservationist, a monogamist, a feminist, a relativist, an objectivist, an imperfectionist, ageist, possibly racist, an orderly anarchist, a self-proclaimed mystic, a student of comedy, a patron of music, a "computerman” that learned to read from video game dialogue, a prude who left behind my virginity and my first kiss in the same month, in a long-term relationship, a chronic masturbator, a cannabis enthusiast, a night owl, a shyguy who leads with being quiet & observant, a loud-laugher, an unlearned intellectual, an improviser that likes scripts, a good friend, handsome maybe, fashionable unto myself, a liar who's uncomfortably honest, an adequate dungeon master, a quasi-essayist, an armchair film critic & armchair psychologist, full of curses like a sailor, a free-spirit that free associates at all times, as irritable as my bowels and, as is increasingly apparent, I am hypomanic when sleepless & writing.




Truly a virtue I want to live up to is being a brainiac. The mind is a terrible thing to be thoughtless, and I feel the need as I grow older and look at paternity as virtuous to know everything. The pursuit of science is noble, and I would like to be an animal of understanding, to the enhancement of my and my friends' and my family's lives.


A virtue founded in vanity, I think when we use the adjective and words like it: awesome, radical, groovy, hip, chill; they all summon up images of an inspiring, edge-of-the-bell-curve, excited-and-exciting, culturally-plugged-in and cool-headed individual. I aspire to be those, in addition to gaining better taste.


To be my body, yes, but also belong to my body, to sculpt the form I live in as I shape the world to my design is virtuous, although seemingly shallow. The distinguishing facet between being vain and fighting off atrophy to live as poetry in motion is that one is narcissism of the insecure variety and the other self-actualization, a push to live and truly live as art, as art is life and life is artistic.


I only desire to be a friend to everyone I meet. Why is that so hard? It's as difficult to be seen, really seen, by someone new as it is to see someone through all my expectations, assumptions and projections. I want to make more eye contact and listen with intention and feel more compassion more often. For everyone I meet.

Observantness & curiousness

To be in my body and experience sensations doesn't appear to be a moral imperative, but one simply must to be alive. I want to appreciate life more fully in this way, and to always be in pursuit of deepening my awareness. In that spirit, to increase my consciousness to include others' and listen and feel and smell and taste and truly see them.


Career complaints aside, the desire to live a life looking toward posterity and leave a legacy is a two-sided coin of ego and ego-death. I hope to leave behind a memorable life full of virtuous deeds and full of people remembering the ways I bettered their lives. The strive then is to be as good as possible with as many people as possible, to improve institutions and raise children to be flagships of virtue exploring a progressively new age unfamiliar to me, and ultimately surrender my energy, matter and spirit to that which is everything.


In the spirit of being a friend with individuals, I want to extend that past individuals and learn how to love groups, and beyond that love communities, and further still love cities, and forever outward until I belong to the universe and the universe belongs to me.


Crying, feeling and sitting with each emotion, digging into my own stories, old memories and trauma to spew art is a beautiful calling I've ignored because of economic pursuits. It's difficult, and I'm still practicing musicianship, writing, storytelling and, fearful of all, stagecraft. Breaking down the need to appear skillful, I want to pursue art in all forms, to enrich myself with culture and traditions and other artists.


I know without knowing that I am more than my material body and brain, and intend to increase in spirit and ethics. I aim to define my philosophy and create my own religion, my conscience as my guide. To read, to evaluate, to work internally on behaviors is the path forward, the spirit which is holy leading me toward godliness.