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37 • Olympia, WA • Man
I’m looking for
- Ages 19–39
- Near me
- Who are single
- For long-term dating, short-term dating
- Last online
- Apr 15
- 6′ 0″ (1.83m)
- Body type
- Mostly anything
- Other, and laughing about it
- Graduated from university
- Art / Music / Writing
- Has cats
We are made of starstuff, our eyes are the universe peering at itself, and crapdiddley these probosci and folds are meant for each other. Me:
explorer on the imaginal frontier; C-6/7 spinal cord injury (these wheels put the Roll in Rock n Roll); DJ; writer, currently engrossed in revising first novel.
Port of the Sun.
Black Hills Cabal.
Yes, and you probably know me. Olympia is a little termite hotel. Room service!
But what do i notice? Snails. Biggest land snail? Giant African. Some grow to 15 inches snout to tail and weigh 2 pounds. Largest living sea snail?: Syrinx Aruanus, the whole behemoth with shell can weigh up to 40 motherflipping pounds. Zowee that's a big snail.
Movies: City of Lost Children, The Dark Crystal
Music: cataleptic trance, dreamscapes, noogler, bumpa-rumpus
Shows: live pressurization chamber footage
your hair falling over my face
The fact is that I am unique. What a man can pass unto others does not interest me; like the philosopher, I think nothing is communicated by the art of writing. Annoying and trivial minutiae have no place in my spirit, a spirit which is receptive only to whatsoever is grand. Never have I retained the difference between one letter and another. A certain generous impatience has not consented that I should learn to read. Sometimes I deplore this, for the nights and days are long.
Naturally, I am not without amusement. Like a ram on the charge, I run through the galleries of stone until dizzily I tumble to the ground. I conceal myself in the shadows of a cistern or in the corner of a corridor and pretend that I am being searched for. There are rooftops from which I let myself fall until I bloody myself. At any time I can shut my eyes and pretend that I am asleep, breathing deeply. (Sometimes I really do sleep, sometimes the colour of the day has changed by the time I open my eyes). But of the games I play, the one I prefer is pretending there is another Asterion. I pretend that he has come to visit me and I show him around the house. With great reverence I tell him: Now we return to the previous intersection, or Now we head towards another courtyard, or I knew you would like this drain, or Now you will see a cistern that has filled with sand, or Now you will see how the cellar forks. Sometimes I err and we both laugh heartily.
Not only these games have I imagined; I have also meditated on the house. Each part of the house repeats many times, any particular place is another place. There is not one cistern, courtyard, drinking fountain, manger; there are fourteen (infinite) mangers, drinking fountains, courtyards, cisterns. The house is the size of the world; better said, it is the world. Nevertheless, by dint of exhausting all the dusty galleries of grey stone and the courtyards with their cisterns, I have reached the street and I have seen the temple of Axes and the sea. This I did not understand until a night vision revealed to me that there are also fourteen (infinite) seas and temples. Everything exists many times over, fourteen times, but there are two things in the world that seem to exist only once; above, the intricate Sun; below, Asterion. Perhaps I have created the stars and the Sun and the enormous house, but I do not remember anymore.
Nine men enter the house every nine years so that I may deliver them from all evil. I hear their footsteps or their voices in the depths of the galleries of stone and I run with joy in search of them. The ceremony lasts a few minutes. One after another, they fall to the ground without my having to bloody my hands. Where they fall, they remain, and the cadavers help to distinguish one gallery from another. I know not who they are, but I do know that one of them prophesied, at the moment of his death, that someday my redeemer would come. Since then, the solitude does not pain me because I know that my redeemer lives, and in the end he will rise above the dust. If I could hear all the rumblings of the world, I would detect the sound of his footsteps. Let it be that he take me to a place with fewer galleries and fewer doors.
I wonder: what will my redeemer be like? Will he be like me?
- "man in wheelchair" turns you on
- your voluptuous kisses make Aphrodite blush
- your imagination is worth more to you than pharaoh's riches
- you have always suspected that the openings in your body lead somewhere.
- and afterward there's nowhere you'd rather be
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