Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
I’m a Meyers-Briggs INFP and an aspie. If you know what both of
those mean then you already know, at least vaguely, what you are
getting into if you answer this. I am not for every taste and
season. That’s why I say I am narrow-casting here. I am not the
kind of guy who can pick up people in bars. Firstly, I hate bars.
Secondly, I have never mastered the process of negotiation that
allows two strangers to “hook up” quickly and efficiently. I'm a
trained rhetorician and have spent my life being told that I have a
rare gift for expressing myself powerfully and persuasively with
words. "Wrote a song for everyone, wrote a song for truth, wrote a
song for everyone, but I could not even talk to you". I doubt if
John Calhoun Fogarty originally meant these words as a complaint
about having a gift for self-expression that disappears like
Superman's powers upon exposure to Kryptonite in the presence of an
achingly attractive stranger that one would give up a Grammy or a
Noble prize to know better, but this interpretation feels right to
I tend to get to know people slowly and, sometimes, painfully. I
think I may have become a writer long ago because I never found
anyone that I could pour my heart out to as easily as I could
utter/outer/other what was quarantined inside my skull onto a page
that could somehow hear every secret and keep them all. Most people
who frequent bars get bored and wander off long before I manage to
break the ice. I typically miss any openings they give me and talk
about all the wrong things when I speak at all. I am probably doing
this right now. If so, thank you for your patience and kindness if
you are still reading and, if you are not, I just want you to know
that I really can't help it and that it is neurotypical bigots like
you who have made my life, if not hell, at least very similar to a
long head-cold that will not go away. I'd never say this if you
were still reading. Unlike you smog bastards, I try not to hurt
even critters I can relate to only about as well as a barnacle can
to some truck-stop waitress who thinks that a guy who puts maple
syrup in his coffee is kinky enough to make the carnal knowledge
thereof qualify as both anthropological research and a righteous
I love talking philosophy, literature or psychology but have
absolutely no talent for the kind of small talk which is made not
to convey or receive information but to establish rapport. I find
it hard to establish rapport by saying nothing. I prefer
conversations with content and become quickly annoyed with empty
chatter designed to fill an awkward silence. The problem is that
those silences are not awkward for me. I can ride in total silence
for an hour when taking long trips by car with a companion that I
know well and feel comfortable with. I’ve been told that I’m not a
good person to take on road trips for this reason.
I disappear inside my mind for long periods even when there is
someone I care about in the same room. If this would feel like
rejection to you, I am not what you are looking for. I’ve spent my
life being told how smart I was by people who found me boring. This
is especially painful for me when the person telling me how smart I
am is an attractive woman. I’m probably the only guy in the history
of Mensa to join because I thought it would be a great place to
This did not work out well but I learned something important from
the attempt; I’m part of a sub-population within the general
population who are significantly over-represented in the upper 2%
of the IQ distribution. After I’d been around for a while, I could
divide the Mensa regulars up into two categories, “extreme high
normal” and “one of us” without having much question at all where
each person belonged. I did not get along any better with the
“extreme high normals” that with the garden variety normals that I
had already spent my life boring and being bored by.
I am a mutant, a hopeful monster who only functions well in one
narrow niche both socially and professionally. My species is not
yet defined and I may be a one-time fluke with no future and no
other half waiting, with baited breathe and an aching hornitude
vast enough to beggar the imagination, for her ship to run aground
or at least get close enough to make swimming out a realistic
option. This makes searching for a girlfriend or even the
occasional pity-fuck a long-shot gamble similar to wandering around
in some discount clothing barn on the off chance of finding a
quality control nightmare with three sleeves.
So here I am at 59, an avid reader and a failed writer who has been
amazed to find that I am really good at the “day job” I fell back
on to avoid starvation. I teach English and psychology both online
and on-ground and really enjoy it most of the time. My students
actually like me. This is confirmed every term when they turn in
their evaluations but I’m always amazed when it happens. ***Right
now, I’m learning the pure math behind the statistics and research
design I already know and how to play an extended range bass bass.
I also play drums***** I love computers but this love is largely
unrequited; I’m not good with computers even though computers have
been very good to me. I was born and grow up before computers
became a part of everyday life and, somehow, I survived. Looking
back, I can’t remember exactly how.
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
Ad hoc, ad loc, quid pro quo:
So little time, so much to know!
- Jeremy, Yellow Submarine
I’m a failed writer who would have failed even more essentially if
he had spent his life doing anything other than not getting
anywhere as a writer. Some people are born to fail at a particular
something and cheat themselves and the world out of the best they
could have been by succeeding at anything else. Hitler should have
spent his life not getting anywhere as an artist. The world is a
sadder place because he found something he was good at.
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
Pattern recognition, Being alone. Writing love letters for other
people, playing the bass (extended range), Tasting the sweetness of
the twisted apples. Helping students modify whatever patterns in
their thinking, feeling and doing are keeping them from rendering
and achieving satisfaction in a world they never made and can only
change by changing their own behavior. I'm a revolutionary plotting
to make revolutions tiny enough to fit behind one pair of eyes. I'm
also good at remembering to always save string and to never eat
anything bigger than my head.
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
How curious I am and how willing I am to look foolish or weird if
following social norms will make it less likely that my project of
the moment will succeed. I don't intentionally hurt anyone or
ignore social norms so that I can cheat someone in some way. "Weird
but harmless" is the persona I present most of the time. This
allows me to act naturally in situations where acting naturally
will mean responding in ways that will surprise most observers.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
I read constantly. I enjoy poetry ( Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsburg,
Rilke in translation) My favorites in fiction would include William
S. Burroughs, Philip K. Dick, Thomas Pynchon, Kathy Acker, Edgar
Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Robert Bloc, Michel Houellebec ,William
Faulkner, Borges and the other Magical Realists. I love black
comedy, not just in writing but in all the arts. In non-fiction I
read such a wide range of books that listing individual authors
would leave a lot out. I tend to read books not about "what" things
mean but ""how" they mean. I listen to a wide range of music but
play almost nothing but the blues and Bob Dylan when i am making
music myself. I am live mostly on fruit and veggies when I cook for
myself but will eat almost anything as long as someone else cooks
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
Books, movies, The Internet and other sources of information and/or
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
Death and how to create meaning in my particular life when life on
planet earth is a one in a billion to the billionth power fluke
without meaning, purpose or final significance. The "cosmicism" of
Lovecraft, the existentialism of Sartre and the dark gnosticism of
William S. Burroughs all provide important motifs in the interior
decor of the place for feeling and thinking generated by my brain
and protected by my skull and my tact in casting pearls before
swine. I think about politics a lot also and daydream a good bit. I
also wonder if communication between people is really possible at
more than the superficial level of "go get, bring here". I wonder
why sex creates such a feeling, for me at least, of knowing someone
well and feeling close when the epistemic value of sex per se is
all but nil.
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
Reading, grading papers, playing with my cats, having deep
philosophical conversations with my two really brilliant
housemates, following Wikipedia links with no particular place to
go and no particular motive beyond pure, damnable curiosity,
exercising, writing material that exists in the murky intersection
where prose poetry, qualitative research, experimental fiction and
creative non-fiction overlap, playing one or more of several basses
having between four and eight strings, watching French films with
the help of sub-titles, watching video courses on various topics,
wondering if I will ever have sex again, wondering if I'm spooking
out some potential girl-friend by admitting that I wonder if I'll
ever have sex again, wondering which photo to upload since I
radically change my appearance every six months or so, trying to
remember if this is really Friday night or Monday night or what,
wondering if I can get away with only teaching online and never
again leave The Sanctuary (what we three call the space we share),
wondering if developing agoraphobia will make it even less likely
that I will ever have sex again, wondering if additional people
will ever join The Sanctuary, wondering if anyone reading this will
ever join The Sanctuary and/or want to have sex with me, wondering
if I should try to convince my housemates to turn this in to a
menage-a-trios, wondering if my body type is really muscular or
only dumpy and if I should post a nude just so that anyone who
really cared could judge for themselves. Wondering if I'll like
Florida more than Texas once we've unpacked and settled in.
Wondering if stream-of-consciousness is the best way to convey the
immediacy of my existence to someone who does not know me from
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
Twilight of the Outward Life
by Hugo von Hofsmannsthal (translated by Peter Viereck)
And children still grow up with longing eyes
That know of nothing, still grow tall and perish,
And no new traveller treads a better way;
And fruits grow ripe and delicate to cherish
And still shall fall like dead birds from the skies,
And where they fell grow rotten in a day.
And still we feel cool winds on limbs still glowing,
That shudder westward; and we turn to say
Words, and we hear words; and cool winds are blowing
Our wilted hands through autumns of unclutching.
What use is all our tampering and touching?
Why laughter, that must soon turn pale and cry?
Who quarantined our lives in separate homes?
Our souls are trapped in lofts without a skylight;
We argue with a padlock till we die,
In games we never meant to play for keeps.
And yet how much we say in saying 'twilight,'
A word from which man's grief and wisdom seeps
Like heavy honey out of swollen combs
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
You have ever fantasized about having a love affair with Mr. Spock,
or helping Mr. Data really grok the trinity, or being abducted by
pickle people from Uranus with yourself as Helen of Troy and the UN
finally getting involved, or studying semiotics with Groucho Marx.
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