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NobleSalvage

59 M Philadelphia, PA

I’m looking for

  • Girls who like guys
  • Ages 40–60
  • Near me
  • For new friends, long-term dating

My Details

Last Online
Today – 10:30am
Orientation
Straight
Ethnicity
White
Height
5′ 9″ (1.75m)
Body Type
Fit
Diet
Smokes
No
Drinks
Rarely
Drugs
Never
Religion
Catholicism, and laughing about it
Sign
Leo, and it matters a lot
Education
Graduated from space camp
Job
Art / Music / Writing
Income
$20,000–$30,000
Relationship Status
Single
Relationship Type
Offspring
Doesn’t want kids
Pets
Speaks
English (Fluently), Spanish (Fluently), German (Okay), French (Poorly)

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My self-summary
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 vanishing.

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 scary.

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 Pope's Dome.

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 many
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 own boundaries.

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.
-Meditation.
-Reading.
-Writing.
-Solitude.
-Family
-Sexual chemistry. Okay, sexual-alchemy. I'm hardly a stud, in fact
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
tender review.
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.