[sharp intake of oxygen . . . slow exhalation of words]:
I INSPIRE a chatoyant mélange of BEAUTIFUL things . . .
STEP INSIDE MY beehive, HONEY!
This is why I’m attracted to you: you’re graceful, yet goofy; you resonate with KINDNESS, but know how to be NAUGHTY; you get why Anchorman is just as genius as Harold and Maude, why My Bloody Valentine’s guitar feedback is as enigmatic as the thrust of tribal drums, why Geek Love is as moving as Viktor Frankl, or a baby’s navel; you feel a slight patina of sadness for all the world’s subway singers; YOUR WATERS RUN DEEP, yet you’ll never drown in self-absorption; you can fake an accent –– preferably Swedish, or a ’50s French noir, tough-girl lilt when things get hard (really hard); you’re Jonesin’ to make the familiar –– unfamiliar; you’re powerful in clear and mysterious ways; YOU’RE SVELTE, CHEEKY, IMPECCABLY STYLISH, and still can strip away the accoutrements of the visible to bare your naked, feline SOUL.
MY IDEA OF FUN: For me, the urge to connect is deep –– even though I’m quite cozy in my own skin, and I’m content to go it alone; laugh it alone; dance it alone; art it alone; be it alone (against clichés), if it means "pursuing [my] bliss" (Campbell . . . Joseph, not Naomi). SIMPLY PUT: I WANNA GO HALFSIES ON THE SUCCULENT SLICES OF LIFE WITH SOMEONE COOL. (I’m Big Foot ISO Big Fun.) You may catch me, wide-eyed, contemplating the smooth arc of a ballerina’s back at an ABA performance of Balanchine, or cracking funnies with my boy, Tony “the Silent Assassin” Robles, over a game of 8-ball.
I’m a bon vivant for ABSURD CHALLENGES. That’s why I once catapulted myself into the LABYRINTH OF INDIA as a high school exchange student for a year. By day, I hone my superpowers, training the complex dance/art/liberation/martial art of CAPOEIRA (my Portuguese nickname? “Calca de Couro”: “LEATHER PANTS”). By night, I hit the seductive streets in my favorite creamy Varda boots, “bitchin’!” Armani blazer, and Christian Roth glasses for an evening of chocolate martinis, conversation that builds like wicked architecture, and, perhaps, even a helicopter ride . . . PROVIDING THE COMPANY IS DAZZLING.
The thing is . . . I DON’T THINK IN TERMS OF DATING, but in terms of relating. Can you appreciate creative silence, where two people flow off each other’s energy? Are your chakras open for business? Do you know why your words create your world, and why I avoid negative situations? ("Thoughts are causes; conditions are effects." - Brian Tracy [et al])
I prefer women with edges as well as with curves, who can laugh at dirty jokes and fondle the flesh of avant–garde ideas.
As much as I’m guided by discipline, integrity, and a need to succeed, which touches everything I do –– I still savor moments pregnant with mischief . . . like the time I snuck into my roommate’s room, hid under his bed, and then popped out like a sordid Jack-in-the-box yelling, “Here’s Johnny!” to make his heart flatline.
YES, I’M ADDICTED TO THE ROBOT DANCE: And Saturn. (And "Saturnine.") And personal growth (even when it’s painful). And conventional uses of the words “tough titty.” And enlightening friendships. And winning awards in advertising. And film. And fun. And the flaws of being human. And unearthing the stuff that makes people’s lives –– artful.
So, if this sounds like your gig –– and you wanna take a little laugh safari –– DO SOMETHING that’s going to pique my interest. Because this rocket takes off in T-minus 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 seconds . . .
[message me, Sweetness]