The rebel, the pervert, the gentleman and the philosopher.

Well, I’ve got a shirt that does a pretty damn good job:

Gentleman. Philosopher. Pervert. Rebel.



I’m a gentleman thanks to my mom. She raised me solo in the ’90s, doing her best to keep me grounded while juggling everything life threw her way—some job changes, a few different locations, and all the challenges that come with raising a kid on your own.

Thankfully, she had help from my grandparents—kind souls with old-school values. From them, I learned manners, loyalty, and how to carry myself with respect—even when I didn’t feel respected. Some things I picked up without realizing, until I got older and became more capable of reflection.



I’m a philosopher because I’ve always chased the big questions:

What’s the point? Why are we here? Is there something beyond this—out in the galaxy, or in a next life?

I’ve dipped my toes in different belief systems, wrestled with God, ego, and death. And I’ve had a few long nights on psychedelics that opened doors no book ever could. I don’t claim to have the answers—but I damn sure keep asking.



As for the pervert part…
Let’s just say I’ve got a strong libido, a dark sense of humor, and I’ve learned to be comfortable in my own skin. We won’t get into all that here—wrong audience, wrong setting—but I won’t pretend I’m holier than I am.

Tamer than I used to be, that’s for certain—and that’s the result of hard lessons.



And the rebel?
That one runs deep.

I don’t do well with blind obedience. Never have. I question everything—rules, orders, systems. Not just to be difficult, but because I’ve seen what happens when people follow without thinking.

Sometimes rebellion is just the natural response to a world that feels upside down.

Combine that with even a basic knowledge of history, and governments start looking like the real boogeyman.


MicG