My name is Trystan Trazon.
Formerly Trystan Phillip Toole of Greater Seattle, Washington. Currently living on the margin between Queens and Brooklyn. Ask what brought me to this city, and I’ll ramble off a list of excuses. I make music, I write plays, I shake martinis, take my paychecks, then dance myself into debt. I've spent most of my life shooting my mouth off and am now understanding the authority that comes with being an attentive listener. I'm the world's tardiest answerer of voicemails. I don't always write (or for that matter, speak) in complete sentences. I am preoccupied with pop culture revivals, past revolutionaries and public indecency. But mostly I’m preoccupied with this absurd reality of people, in spite of their collective resistance and capacity toward suffering, forever struggling to just get along.

Really, this blog is here mostly as a means to condition a kind of self-narrative. By that I mean (and I've said this many times before) the idea that "if you didn’t write it, it didn’t happen". Brick upon brick of my self-referential memory have left an entire fourth wall open to the crisis of forgetting. I am showing signs of a geriatric at the age of twenty-two. I need to build this wall, or rebuild it, as the case may be. Even if it means reversing the chronology. Otherwise, there really is no excuse for this blog. Maybe to defend the declining relevance of neosocialist theory. And oh, to post YouTube videos of Jennifer Hudson.

Yes, mostly just that.

So enjoy at your risk. Just don't say I didn't warn you.

Keep With The Bliss,

Trystan Trazon.