i'm a very serious guy most of the time, except for when i'm not, which is pretty much always.
ENTp, if you put any stock in that sort of thing.
i'm basically a gypsy who loves zen monks and gutter punks and probably the way you smell.
i think ee cummings had it all figured out:
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both
parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard
Humanity i love you because
when you're hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you're flush pride keeps
you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house
Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it's there and sitting down
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity
i hate you
it means whatever the hell you want it to mean.
it's just another finger pointing at the moon.
tending my little garden,
menacing the bastards any way i can.
separating the truth from the game since 1976.
laughing shamelessly and at the most inappropriate times.
looking damn good doing it.
working with my hands.
writing filthy poems.
digging in the dirt.
cleaning up messes.
how damn humble I am?
the conspicuous absence of handcuffs and state-issued clothing?
maybe the crooked smile and even crooked-er nose.
this is odd... talking about myself. what is the self anyhow? show it to me and i'll tell you all about it.
C) Fuck your TV in its neckhole
i kid. can i still change my answer?
'never' is so absolute sounding.
you might be surprised at how little you actually need.
i know i was.
that said, i'll posit:
the art of conversation,
great music: any that moves me—whether to dance, weep, climax, or riot.
a garden in which to meditate,
a deliciously round ass to rub up against,
and decent food.
it's tough to imagine a world that doesn't have these things that is still worth living in.
the economy of flesh on flesh,
the taste of sweat off the nape of her neck; the small of her back.
what i am making for dinner.
with whom i will be enjoying it.
every sort of mischief which will ensue later.
the sound of one hand clapping.
or looking at the moon in my teacup.
i don't really understand "typical." and weekends don't mean so much when you work for yourself. anyway, a passably good evening is one where i collect some material worth committing to paper, make a new friend, torment a rival with some damn fool prank, engage in some lost weekend style debauchery, do not die.
dead serious though? that my folks are still together after 40+ years. i admire and envy them for that.
you're from the bene gesserit and think i might be the kwisatz haderach.
take me to your people.
you think we might have interesting and thought provoking ideas to discuss with one another.
you are sure we have nothing to talk about, and think it would be amusing/fun/kinky for us to destroy each other.
your post-coital routine usually includes a hi-five and a "go team!"
your favorite comedy is passion of the christ.
your favorite love stories include barfly, the professional, or leaving las vegas.
you've got your own bail/burial money.
you have learned from your mistakes that nobody ever learns anything from her mistakes.
you need a drinking buddy.
you have a dollar and are looking for someone with a bad idea.
you are a slow-witted, lopsided moron who enjoys being berated, belittled, and chewed up by equally dim people with superiority complexes.
you believe every word of this.
you know that i am perfectly full of shit.
actually you probably shouldn't message me at all if you've got any damn sense.