Given that it has been known since ancient times that there simply is no good way to introduce or summarise yourself, I’m hereby indemnified from blame for this attempt sucking.
That’s an ironclad logic loop right there. Don’t even try to pick it apart. I’m telling you, it cannot be done. Nuh-uh. In fact, it’s so rock-solid that it is admissible in court as what legal scholars reverently call ‘uber-evidence’. I’d have to bone up on their jargon, but I think that means it’s, umm, good? What’s more, I’ve even heard it can also function as a sort of… currency in certain enlightened civilisations peopled by higher-beings. It’s worth a lot there. But, like, spend it wisely. Some of these beings are so advanced they have figured out how to make ice-cream which doesn’t give you that painful brain-freeze feeling. And it’s calorie-free. Needless to say, you’re gonna want to load up.
Anyway, my name is Ryan. I’m
twenty-five twenty-six twenty-seven twenty-eight. I live in England, alas. I enjoy playing video-games, reading, and, well, a bunch of other stuff. God, having to list your hobbies is borderline worse than going to the optician and them wanting to actually touch your eye. You know what I mean? Similarly, anyone who instigates those kind of tell-us-about-yourself ‘ice-breaker’ activities in social situations should be put on a watchlist. Just to be safe. Because something, like something deep inside, is just not… right… with them. In a truly unsettling way. And who knows how that will express itself in the future. Today they ask you to play a zany game of ‘two truths and a lie’, tomorrow they’re insisting how fun and wacky it would be for us to repeal habeas corpus. I’m just saying…
By the way, in case you want to put a face to the name, I look like this:
Most importantly of all: I like to write about various things. I am aware that conventional wisdom states that twenty-somethings do not know anything about anything. And also that when they pretend otherwise it is an affront not just to one’s intellect but also to the inviolate truth-loving of one’s very soul. I do not mean to obey this prohibition. I hope you won’t hold that against me.
Let’s get down to business. I believe that a writer enters into a strange little covenant with anyone who cares to read what they have to say. Most of the time, this takes an unspoken, vague, malleable form. But I’d like to make the one I propose to adhere to explicit:
- I won’t lie to you about what I think.
- I will try to be as open/honest as I can be in any given instance. Life’s a hundred times too short for childish secret-keeping. If you’re not okay with the world seeing who you are, do not present yourself to it.
- These first two bullet-points make very different assurances.
- I will almost never be brief and/or concise. Succinctness is an admirable skill. But I do not possess it. If something else occurs to me as I’m writing a post, you can trust that I’ll probably throw it in there too. For better or worse.
- I won’t ever condescend to you. In fact, I think it’s good discipline as a writer to assume that your reader is much smarter than you. Not least because – [BLEEP. BLOOP. ENTERING ENDEARINGLY ‘SELF-DEPRECATING’ MODE] – it’s likely true.
- I will never say something stupid or something I don’t believe, purposely just to upset or offend or inflame. That’s the hobby of children and imbeciles. And only one of these groups can be forgiven for it.
- I do not care if you find something I say upsetting or offensive or inflammatory. I refuse to not say it just to try and avoid that happening. You’re a grown-up (hopefully). I’m a grown-up (or thereabouts). Feelings get hurt sometimes. Often unintentionally. The exchange of ideas is a rough and tumble contact-sport. That’s alright. We can do this.
- It’s totally okay if you dislike my opinions, how I think, my writing style, my sense of humour, my tendency towards (over)long posts, etc. No hard feelings. I promise.
- As we all know, tone can easily get lost/misinterpreted with the written word, so let me be clear: that is not intended to be sarcastic or standoffish in any way. I simply mean to say that there’s a lot of awesome content on the internet – albeit afloat in a vast sea of garbage – and I hope you find some you actually enjoy. Don’t hate-read things. Seriously. Studies show that the accumulating, unvented aggravation begins to shrink your kidneys, right up until they resemble tiny wrinkly raisins. That’s hard science, you dig? So it’s your choice. You want weird, gross-looking raisin-kidneys? Thought not.
- If I say something I later come to regret or outgrow, I hope to avoid the temptation to just delete it and pretend it never happened. The goal ought to be to revisit it, explain my dissatisfaction with it and how I now differ from it. It’s fine to not feel the same way or think the same things as you did five or ten or fifty years ago. So I don’t want to disavow my own evolution.
(And, of course, if I break any of these rules at any time, I reserve the right to say that my website was hacked and an impostor made that specific post. That’s why I keep my login password as
PASSWORD123 – sorry, I have to put a line through it so it’s unreadable – in order to maintain plausible deniability. Don’t judge me. This desperate get-out-of-jail-free card is a sacred right. I mean, it’s the last refuge of a whole generation of celebrities with very poor impulse control and a bizarre subconscious belief that sometimes, somehow their Twitter posts must surely only be going to their most forgiving close personal friends. Oh boy are they ever wrong. As errors go, it’s even slightly dumber than flat-Earthism. And that’s really saying something…)