Unicellular

Small ideas amaze me. The single cell that does not pitch or paint or praise, but lulls, perfecting it’s homeostate. Existing on the pendulum from stardust to sensibility, untaught, untamed—nimbly executing a galactic program. All powerful and powerless. Reactionary and replicating; mitosis in epiphany. It is their function to initiate. Spiraling ideas in spindles. Outward and inward. Controlled and truculent. Little things. Little forms. Suspicions. Callings. Convictions. Simple grains of awe and being. A portrait of god in pointillism.

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About

I am often asked what I do for a living; the simple answer is, I make stuff. I make stuff with my bare hands, with code, with colors, with words. I aid in making the people around me realize their optimum selves. I make my mother proud. I try to make my kids happy and encourage them to contribute more than they consume. I make sure self comes first. I make money. I make my own luck. I make a pretty solid french toast. And I do all that I can everyday to make the world better than it was yesterday.

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