Existential bohemian indentured to corporate nihlism or, in Heinleins more elegant prose: Stranger in a strange land.
Ya gotta dance like no one's watching -- Will. Purkley.
The world MUST see me dancing! -- Emma Goldman.
No one watches me dance. They don't exist. -- Kierkegard.
I dance, therefore you watch. -- Descartes
No von dances alone in my party! Everyone dost za goose-step NOW. -- Adolf H.
Dancing is dead. -- Nietzsche.
Dance when you're told not to. -- Henry David Thoreau.
Dance with your spirit before your body. -- Emmerson.
Please... if you drink and/or do drugs every day, I am not interested.
And, with the above hurdles having culled the crowd, welcome to my profile.
Hrrm...well: I'm direct. Though I'm adaptable to a range of personality types, I'm best suited to those both introspective and astute. I'm fit (but do smoke), and have a strong charisma (some would refer to it as crazed--cozy yet?) I'm uncomfortable with small talk and groups--preferring instead the deeper insights provoked from good dialogue one-on-one. I don't watch tv (never owned one) so I am to pop-culture what an orchard is to plastic fruit.
More reasons why I'm an unsuitable male:
I smuggle chocolates into movie theatres.
I'm uglier in person.
I'm not fond of make-up. I like the way people really are. I'm weird like that.
I love Bach.
I don't do trailer camping. Tents with bears sniffing around suit me fine.
I almost exclusively wear cargo pants.
I love the environment more than a perfect lawn.
I'm trying to learn Yoga. It seems currently to consist of a lot more 'gah' than Yo.
I like music from other countries and eras.
I rarely drink beer.
I foam at the mouth when reading propoganda in the popular press.
I walk on the beach and, curiously, never run into the millions who say they enjoy doing that. I think this reveals some secret practical joke of the Universe that I'm too dull to understand.
I let--no: welcome--the cats and dog on the bed.
Everytime I visit a zoo I want to free the inmates. And cage the insensitive gawkers.
I HATE animals being in cages. Period. If you like to do that, please feel free to cage yourself for x-amount of hours per day. Perhaps you too will eventually become so messed up you'll see it as your 'little friendly cave'.
I'm the first to tell a guy/girl he/she should stop buying cologne/perfume in drums.
I'll take nips from your cheesecake when you arn't looking.
I say 'you're ever so welcome' snidely when I hold the door open for someone who doesn't acknowledge the act.
I'm neurotic about touching elevator buttons. I use my keys. Yes, I'm the guy who scratches the buttons.
I think it should be compulsary to include a pic taken when you first wake up. So I did. The truth shall set you free. Alone, but free.
I'm not man enough to stand at a urinal while other men engage in conversations about their cars whilst surreptitiously trying to get a glimpse my way.
Sometimes I put random toilet-seats up even when I havn't gone. 'Put the seat down, put the seat down'... Well how about putting it up 50% of the time?
I let wasps land on me. Sometimes I feed them with honey.
I like any insect that doesn't want to eat me. I grow spiders in my house. Other people use fly-paper. It isn't bio-degradable.
I know where I'm driving. I'm never lost. Sometimes I just take the scenic, circuitous route. Enjoy the ride.
I'm a terrible spelar.
Sometimes I'll mis-spell the same word in differant configurations in the same paragraph.
I like editors giving me odd glances above my papers.
I tell people silly things which annoy them, like: run the lid under warm water for 3 seconds. Voila. I then launch into discussions about the space time continuum and contraction/expansion forces while they walk away. They never offer me a pickle. This is annoying.
I like the squishy gooey feeling of mud between my toes.
I write bad poetry but am convinced it's brilliant. If you think it's good, I suspect you of being dropped on your head as a wee one.
I graze at the bulk-nut section.
I don't dye my hair.
I won't change my appearance to impress your friends or enhance your image.
My car is not shiney and new. In fact, it has rust spots. You wouldn't look like a princess in it.
I'm as honest as people can handle.
I am to sarcasm what bug-lights are to people who eat overly-large gooby bits of birthday cake under them.
A recent poem
For friends gone, friends wronged, friends longed.
What shape these fingers clasped,
What pace they grasp?
This hush like waves recede
or photographs breathe?
This bridge of touch so still
Where about, jumbles and falls--without such will.
Friends, linger awhile.
Let wry smiles and hearts fly
Where hands clasped remember
Eddy this time to swirl once more.
© @subtle_savage 2011