For loving and for saying so
In whining poetry
But where's that wise man, that would not be I
If she would not deny?
A mixture of Saxon, Viking and Celt, my dreams are filled with images of tall, pale men hacking each other to death in the rain. Well, not really, but it's an amusing conceit.
My plurality of interests are often met with incomprehension and/or disbelief: the idea that I should enjoy lifting weights, martial arts, playing Chopin, reading philosophy, making furniture etc. seems strange to a lot of people. My response to such puzzlement is "Why should I limit myself?" A question I am frequently asked is "How do you know that?", to which I am tempted to snarkily reply that I have outsourced the majority of my cognition to the Third World, conjuring up a grotesque image of underpaid workers hooked up to neural shunts, delivering the knowledge I want on demand.