I think it’s remarkable what one can do with a few written letters or a couple spoken sounds. In a single breath or a lone sentence, so very much can be said if it is said with feeling and fidelity. For this, I have the utmost respect for the meaning and arrangement of words. So if you do happen to read this, and especially if you do happen to know me, just understand these things I say are as honest as they are momently deliberate.

True sanity is defined by self, not society.
And true insanity is violating your morals for their mores.

I am an idealist in the matters of the heart. I believe in love, monogamy, marriage, and giving your life to the love of your life. I am unrealistic, naïve, foolish- and I am grateful for this. I try to fight off cynicism even as everything around me contradicts my convictions. I am the proverbial “hopeless romantic”. But I’m not asinine enough to think true love is a romp in a never-ending field of peaches and cream. I know relationships require work, growth, patience and all things hearty. But certain things shouldn’t be forced. And I refuse to settle for anything less than the real thing.

I am an oxymoron through and through. I am seriously ridiculous yet ridiculously serious to name a few. Complexly simple. Sensibly senseless. And a Polack who doesn't drink to name a few more.

Along those lines, I have such a logic and reason about me (especially for a man who sides truth with feeling). It allows me to remove myself and my inherent bias from any given situation or conversation. So I am quite fortunate to be someone who can sincerely say it is not in my nature to judge, let alone prejudge. I think all generalizations are wrong (including this one). And I have no regard for bigotry.

That said, what is the deal with you Finnish people?

>_<

Something I’ve noticed in my years. Although I have not any real psychological trauma or pain in this story of mine, I can sincerely connect with those who cannot say the same. Perhaps it is because there seems to be a raw humanity to those who have felt such things (yep... you’re right- sweeeeeeping generalization). Or perhaps I just take the Kerouac quote far too seriously.

“The only people for me are the mad ones…”

I adore the woman who gives a damn. And shows it.

^Such is why I have a crush on EVE the robot from 'WALL-E'.

Life is far too short to not make love every day of it.

^Note the word selection.

I do not fear waking up next to the same woman every morning for the rest of my mornings- I hope for it.

I don't play it cool, hard, safe or rough. If I like you, you'll know it. And if I love you, you'll feel it.

I believe in Love in all its forms (humanity, kindness, selflessness, empathy, common decency) far too much to ever hate another soul.

That said, as Elie Wiesel said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”

I am __________ ... simply trying to fill in the blank.

Truthfully, I don't know where I'm going or what I'll be doing. But I do know who I am. I know what I want. And I know all I have to give.

Sometimes I have my way with words. Sometimes they have their way with me. But every once in a special while, we consummate our creatively destructive relationship consensually.

If only I was born with some inkling of musical talent, I'd make a GREAT mediocre songwriter.

something read

'The Invitation'
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

something seen

'Adaptation'
by Charlie Kaufman

Charlie: There was this time in high school. I was watching you out the library window. You were talking to Sarah Marsh.

Donald: Oh, God. I was so in love with her.

Charlie: I know. And you were flirting with her. And she was being really sweet to you.

Donald: I remember that.

Charlie: Then, when you walked away, she started making fun of you with Kim Canetti. And it was like they were laughing at *me*. You didn't know at all. You seemed so happy.

Donald: I knew. I heard them.

Charlie: How come you looked so happy?

Donald: I loved Sarah, Charles. It was mine, that love. I owned it. Even Sarah didn't have the right to take it away. I can love whoever I want.

Charlie: But she thought you were pathetic.

Donald: That was her business, not mine. You are what you love, not what loves you. That's what I decided a long time ago.

something heard

'On the Radio'
by Regina Spektor

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again

something eaten

'Raspberries'
by God

ACT I.
SCENE I. A raspberry field.

Enter GOD tasting a raspberry

GOD
Jesus Christ!

Enter JESUS

JESUS
Yes, Father?

GOD
Oh... nothing.
These things are just fuckin' delicious, son.

Exit JESUS

GOD
Damn I'm good.

Exeunt

The 1893 Chicago World's Fair.

Seriously.

I guess I really don't think like most people. Yes, I realize how flawed that statement is. I mean, how could I possibly know how other people think?

I just seem to notice the bits that are often overlooked. Perhaps that is the writer in me... or the comedian in me... or a combination of both.

Most probably it's because I naturally appreciate the minute eccentricities that make this world what it is... for both the good and the bad (which I mean in the broadest terms (because, to me, good and bad is like West Virginia... it's all relative (and, no, I don't actually think that about the fair Mountain State (I just enjoy the most extreme versions of stereotypes (because by making a stereotype so absurd that only a fool could believe it, you are effectively destroying the stereotype (and in case you haven't noticed, I have no issues with parenthesis inside parenthesis inside parenthesis inside further parenthesis inside even more parenthesis inside yet another set of parenthesis (all properly punctuated, of course))))))).

Some find this a turn-off.

Others find this an incredible turn-off.

I believe my two little cents make too little sense for most people.
And, for the most part, I am okay with that. After all, I am not looking here or there or anywhere for 'people'. My search is far more singular.

But I often do wonder if I come across far more naive than I truly am.
Maybe I do walk a fine line between the sanity of my reality and the insanity of my beliefs. Such is the basis of my profile's first blue words.

So, yes, you can say I am the man standing on the edge of the frame.
But make no mistake, I am there by reason and choice. And from there, I can see it all- the whole picture in its beauty.

And I can appreciate it.

From this edge is where I look. Where I feel. Where I breathe.
And from this edge I am always ready to fall. Such is the edge's truth.
But I am no fool on this edge. I know the worth of this spot of mine.

So I will never fall for the thrill. I will never fall for the novelty.
I will never fall for the difference. I will never fall for the idea.
I will never fall for my hopes. I will never fall for my dreams.

I will never fall for the fall.

I would only fall for the person, if and when I ever fall.
And only for who that person truly is, would I jump.

Your name is Ulyssa. And you go to Cambridge.

:-)