Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
I grew up in a small Midwestern town between a river and an old
stagecoach trail. A little further inland were the railroad-tracks.
I used to lay in bed at night and hear the train whistle blow. And
then the rumble of the train, shaking the earth before
Not a bad prelude to a life of dreams.
I come from a large Catholic family, and took my first road-trip at
fifteen-years old. My parents didn’t have time to miss me. I went
to Montreal with an older and wiser friend who was 17. The next
summer I hitch-hiked to the East Coast and burrowed in Cambridge
while the anti-war protesters rioted down the street at Harvard
Square. And that was just the beginning. One lonely trip after
another. A half-smart kid from a thumbtack town with a knack for
living on the edge of trouble.
Restless. Underpowered. Stubborn beyond reason. I drifted to the
West Coast one lost summer. In Santa Barbara, I stayed with friends
of my hitch-hiking buddy who was sinfully handsome, got all the
girls, and later went certifiably insane. Eventually, I would teach
Special Education in Detroit and soothe the psychologically frail.
Meanwhile , in Santa Barbara, our hosts had a dog that wasn’t
feeling well. On the trip to the vet, I got assigned to sit in the
back-seat and hold the sickling. I felt its stomach quake. An
almost biblical foretelling. When the dog puked on me? I felt
vectored by the angels to be less than zero.
Before leaving town, I visited a chic Santa Barbara bookstore. I
had the feeling that I was in for a long-long life at the bottom,
and that there must be an art to it. Deep down inside, where I
should've had leaden anger, I had fighting exuberance. Well, I
couldn't quite find the book that I was looking for, and so I
thought that I'd have to write it for the next sad-sack a million
miles away from home with euphoria his blood. A life's assignment.
I should've given up. But I’ve got a peasant drive along with
something that science can’t explain. Do you think that there’s
such a thing as a spiritual IQ? Why do some experts experience God
with organic gusto, and other experts experience God at an academic
remove? I think that receptivity to the divine in art is an
analogous thingy. Even then, many are called and few are chosen to
actively create as opposed to politely receive. Therein lies the
inner-road to headache, heartache and all kinds of rejection. Maybe
I don't know enough to quit.
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
I'm half-Irish but wholey suffering from the Irish pathologies. And
I don't mean alcoholism. I mean with the tribalism, the
sentimentality, and the poetic imagination. It can get a little
To make matters worse, I'm left-handed. "Zurdo" to the Spanish and
"Sinistra" to the Italians. That means I'm Southwest of the norm in
my instincts. A boon for the humorist but a real embarrassment for
the inner-cop. I'm a lapsed Catholic but still believe in the
Pagan/Vatican hierarchy. Spirit-Mind-Body in descending order. The
artist/comic in me inverts them to good effect. The
sexual-libertine in me inverted them to good effect as a young
buck, and continues to invert them now as an old goat to really
problematic effect. My psycho-sexual apologia: I have the erotic
imagination of rock star and the body of retiring writer.
I'm pulled to extremes. It would make a lesser man crazy or numb.
But I'm neither defeated nor dead before my time. I do lots of
yoga. Religiously, but without the moralizing. Did Michelangelo
want to save the world? No. He wanted to express what was Divine in
his ornery, animalistic, ego-maniacal nature. And for that, he had
to mind his own inner-tabernacle even as he was working under the
I do lots of yoga. Then I write about Life in the City as a
properly rebellious and poetry-intoxicated Irishman. Full of
blarney but increasing centered. Self-centered on the outside and
magic-stone centered within.
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
I spend too much time in books, searching for knowledge when not
drowning in envy for the self-solved author. I’ve got a ton of my
own stories, though, most of them soaked with so much sadness that
I can't tell them unless I laugh. I’ve lived a bass-ackwards life
while attending to almost all of the conventional touch-stones.
This means that I not only dress-up well, but that I can hold my
own socially with normals and alpha-normals.
I’m very good at moving through the social-spheres. Of course, I
default into being a dusty urban cowboy. But I've tried so
different things in my quest for "place". It given me a reserve of
experience that can be used to fortify and broaden someone else's
narrative. I enjoy being a sympathetic audience while drawing my
That's my "game". I'm good at it. I long to be great at it.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
Presently, I'm reading about Cleopatra three-ways 'till Sunday:
Plutarch's account of Marc Antony's affair, Shakespeare's account
of the same mischief in his play "Anthony and Cleopatra", and
Camille Paglia's critique of the play with all her insights into
the Dionysian, the femme-fatale and the epic life.
I've recently read, "Why I am a Pagan" by the European New Right
virtuoso Alain deBenoist. An excellent book that brings Nietzsche
back down to earth. I am not a nihilist. I am not a Social
Progressive. I am not an atomized, hyper-independent,
ultra-individualist artist. Rather, I'm a blue-collar guy from a
long line of Cathedral builders, Temple builders and, possibly,
Oracle janitors. I have an ancestry.
I don't do movies. But I wish that I had a woman who'd pinch me in
the ass and say, "Let's go!"
Classical Music, of course. Bach because he's the master of math
and flow, science and emotion. Mozart because of his celestial
whimsy. Beethoven because of his gruff gravitas and beauteous
melody. In spite of my Pagan leanings, I'm uncharmed by Wagner. I'm
a muted and reserved Brahms kind of guy. His cello sonatas get me
where I om.
Hillbilly music. Johnny Cash. June Carter-Cash. Merle Haggard. I've
got their genes, and their miles too, but I'm a bit of the
sensitive-poet type. Yuk! I don't listen to country music often,
but when I hear it? The Celtic nomad in me sighs.
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
-Sexual chemistry. Okay, sexual-alchemy. I'm hardly a stud, in
I'm a real bone-headed bachelor who believes that Feminism has been
The Death of the West. Yes, I'm a White Male who really enjoys
pointing his finger at others an complaining in arias about
conspiracies and liberal-dystopia. It's my right as a blue-collar
guy to rant. It's also my birthright to take a whole lot of lumps
for being wrong, and
count scars as trophies.
I posture like the Great Unwed: Beethoven, daVinci, Michelangelo
and more. But scratch the calloused surface, I'm a bit of a Mommy's
Boy. How to explain? While I am good with words, I am awful in
their tempering and delivery. Why would a man even be in a
relationship, if he wasn't seeking a little private tutoring along
with a whole lot of comfort? My dearest female sympathizers seem to
tolerate my mind's content, while remaining very circumspect, even
strict, when judging my heart's tone. This is what I mean by being
a bit of a Momma's Boy and bringing it all home. My raw
intellectual terms. Her intimacy terms and her social terms, too.
Her power lies in the tempering of my "big ideas", and maybe the
final touches on a man, and any work-of-art, are the most precious
and difficult. All of this is fun, especially when a woman has her
own project or vocation, that likewise begs for
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
Well, first of all I think about what a screwball I am in a
screwed-up world. Then I think about Logos. That's right: The
Divine Order of Natural and Supernatural Things.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
I am Patriarchal in theory and Matriarchal in practice.
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