Hank Russell

My name is Hank, and I am a self-proclaimed musician. Not a musician in the sense that I perform elegantly composed music in a theater for the socially elite, but in the sense that I've listened to enough albums that I was like, "Yeah, I could do that." I mean, I can't, but there was a time when I did in fact believe in my own abilities as an artist. Which has been but one stop on a nearly seventeen-year journey of ambition and disappointment, either because of my own lack of skill or a fundamental inability to simply accomplish. This trend, simply a manifestation of my self-diagnosed neurosis, is one that causes great frustration and anxiety.
It seems my worldview, my entire existence rather, is shaped by my unfortunate juxtaposition of a uncompromising hatred and a deep fascination for most everything, including myself. My life is kept in balance, or perhaps attempts to be kept in balance, by arranging befuddling contradictions into a seamless persona. I enjoy a great book, but find myself struggling to turn the page; I love music, but find the fifteen feet to my stereo an ignorant investment; etc. Clearly, I just complain a lot about the mundane nonconflict in my life.
My academic goals for this school year would be to get A's in my Calculus 3 and 4 classes at UK and to do well on my AP exams. Personally, I would also like to release an album from one of my numerous failed musical projects.
I geek out about music mostly. Most of my free time is devoted to either listening to music or practicing my own music. My library on my computer is 160 GB or 19,000 songs.
My favorite website is discogs.com because I can buy new vinyl there.
I apologize for my lengthy almost-existential rant at the opening. Whenever I am allowed the chance to annex a few megabytes of the internet for thoughtspace, this happens.

Attempt #215 to transcend my own lyrical imagination