Out of love and zeal for truth and the desire to bring it to light, the following theses will be published in hopes of creating constructive civil discourse. It contains merely the suggestions of a young person searching for answers in this post-election uncertainty. It was written over a five-week period, by fits and starts, in break rooms and libraries and mass transit seats. The treatise is intentional in its attitude and earnest in its attempts at humor. But, nevertheless, rigorous and serious in its reflections. Nobody should agree with everything below.

Dissertation

I go to the movies a lot.

Blurb.

In the core of Grand Rapids, on the corner of Seward and Seventh, sits Roots Brew Shop, nestled into the polished shell of the Seventh Street Lofts—a coffee shop occupying its rightful place as the creamy center of a pastry priced out of reach for most of the neighborhood. Across the street, a bus stop plays host to the typical minor mischief you’d expect from unhoused locals, fresh off their rounds at the food bank down the block. But for the most part, the area is postcard perfect. The lofts themselves, from the outside, have all the appeal of a trendy urban haven—spacious, industrial-chic, with just the right amount of exposed brick to remind you how far you've come. Of course, being a regular at Roots doesn’t grant you access to the loft parking spots. Still, there are worse fates than having to parallel park on the street. The short walk past the loft entrance, flanked by pruned greenery, feels almost idyllic. Trees arch overhead, casting a gentle shade over the patio tables where patrons linger, sipping their artisanal lattes and pretending not to notice the mild, often entertaining drama unfolding across the street.

Nonfiction

A preview of a short story featured in Music, Memory.

"She was a bit guilty she wasn't a bit guilty."

Available in the store.

“You do good in school?”

“Yea.”

“That’s good. I did too. They call that a paradox.”

Poem

Which dead white guy do I like best?

Journal thoughts from the break room that were (unusually) normal and fit for sharing.

Opinion/Yap

A silly or not so silly poem I wrote right before that same open-mic a while back!

A non-linear unraveling of a young life, told in a collage of mundane and definable events from the one afflicted. Full collection with dozens of entries featured in Music, Memory, below are a few highlighted excerpts.

Fiction?

Why I'm not longer welcome at a certain branch of Libraries in the Midwest told through my plea.

Doggone Steve!

Nonfiction.