Poor Mr. Giambrone.

Can't even think properly. He writes for himself essentially to pass the time and use the caffeine to his advantage. But he can't string together enough coherent material ever to go anywhere. Nor will he ever amount to anything, as long as he stays in Amherst.
But he won't leave until he dies or gets his degree. Whichever comes first. Of course he knows consciously that solving a problem is the only way to put it behind you. Yet he is consumed by fear in much the same way that an engine consumes gas. And his metaphors are limited mostly to macho material.

His writing almost always takes the same tone. He asks questions, attempts to answer them, talks about hate, and then denounces his very ideas. As long as he's taking himself seriously the denunciations will not prevent him from writing. When his personal rebuke is particularly strong, we won't hear anything from him for a good long time.

Blah blah blah blah blah.