Vincent St. Clare

Half-assed (or quarter-, or fifth-assed)—or attempted, at the very least— ["omni"-]creative[/-or] or multi-/poly-disciplinarian (or multidisciplinary "artist" or "maker"). (Basically, just more or less an oddball writer who also engages in a sampling a smidgen of everything from the creativity buffet, from video-making to various forms of tragicomedy to shitposting/memery to other, ill-defined attempts at capturing or developing and presenting broadly tragicomedic, alternatingly cerebral and idiotic, or eccentric creative works of expression, analysis, aesthetic malformation, etc., &c., yada yada...) Additionally, on good days (i.e., non-despairing/non-BigSad[™️]-depression-fucked ones), I'd perhaps call myself a sort of (floundering and disorganized, as with everything in my life—admittedly...) "seeker"—a [would-be[?]] "mystic" (navel-gazer); "magic[k]ian" (making demands of the Void [that I am [not]]); and person suffering from an early-onset, chronic, and persistent case of the progressive illness known as existential–philosophical[–esotericism-related] obsessive-compulsion, i.e., being an intellectually-masochistic (armchair/beanbag chair) philosopher (polychromatic- and half-melted-brained individual)—riding out—and eventually, as for all of us, ending from—the hlrrifically beautiful onrush of the ever-approaching eschaton. But, getting a little further down to brass tacks: I almost always bill myself as a writer before anything else, by which I mean I either actively write, plan to write, or want to plan to write (or plan to want to write, or want to plan to want wanting to plan planning to write, or...[?]) about pretty much everything, or at least I try to—or want to try to, or want to plan to try to (or...[?]). (I typically otherwise find myself scrounging for reasons to tell off the universe, to hand-write scathing complaint letters postmarked, "CAN WE CATCH A BREAK DOWN HERE?" to the Great "Good" (debateable) Lord God Al-fuckin'-mighty.) A secondary self-designation is, as I (kinda) made use of the word above, *"omnicreative"*, a term I coined—I think, anyway—to describe myself as [someone effectively pursuing] the role of pantologist, a quasi-factotum in the trade of oddification—the strangeness that's baptized my life—a dabbler or dilettante who cycles, seemingly at random, or on a whim, between multiple different means and styles of creation and expression, at times combined or overlapping (including multimedia and mixed media), and ultimately without any reservations as to some day giving new tools and artforms, or novel media and methods of expression, a whirl. (V.V.V.V.V. "A bell ringing in the empty sky...")