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38 South Hadley, MA Man


I’m looking for

  • Women
  • Ages 26–44
  • Near me
  • Who are single
  • For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating, casual sex

My Details

Last Online
Today – 11:34am
6′ 0″ (1.83m)
Body Type
Mostly vegetarian
Atheism, but not too serious about it
Cancer, and it’s fun to think about
Graduated from university
Relationship Status
Relationship Type
Has a kid
English (Fluently)

Similar Users

My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
I have been away from this site for a good long while, so it's all terribly out of date. I can't remember what I wrote in the dim, din past, but I'm positive it was breathtaking ... I am only reactivating because beautiful things did not sparkle as they were supposed to do, then a dead time passed, and tonight, the sky is dark and I am, uh, a Yam, apparently! A yearning one, assuredly, yearning for You. Oh yay! Hopefully, I will rouse myself to update this profile in the coming days or weeks (par example, I quit smoking and my son has moved to his mom's, big changes! No, I don't speak French, but I enjoy Truffaut and sometimes even Godard, mais avec seulement du vin, ouch, like I said, I don't know French, please teach me, I want to learn an elegant tongue, mine is clumsy with folly and desire) ... for now, understand that what you read is what I wrote a year, two years, and even three years ago. Ahem.

For example:

Yam what Yam. The Great Turnip sprake. . . . and what rough Rutabaga slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

UPDATE: I'll leave that little bit there since it's cute 'n all ... Anyway, I'm going to plump this profile up a bit over the next few whatevers (days, weeks, years, oh life). Obviously, the deeply funny approach hasn't been working! Or at least, very few have found it deep or funny. Or rather, deep and funny is not what the chicks are diggin' these days. Or maybe I'm just completely askew from prevailing deep / funny prescriptions. This all may be so depthless / turgid, and I'm just another delusional ape. What was I saying? Revision! I'm revising! No, actually, I'm adding. Accreting. This profile is / shall become an ever-expanding Slurry of Me. (Tastier than Yogurt! (Well, no, that's propaganda, nothing's tastier than Yogurt. Already, I'm revealed a liar, a benighted opportunist, leeching on what brand's unbesmirchable popularity? Yogurt.)) So if you've been here before, well, just glance again down the page, maybe something new will catch your eye. So far, I've updated the books and music section. And the private thing section. And this section here. What next? Christ, I don't know, surprise me! Oh wait, that's my job. Okay, shit, I'm already fucking this up ... It'll get there, I promise, O Dream Woman. (If you happen to be Dream Woman, just a little patience, okay?)

FURTHER UPDATE: Honestly, all this narcissism we call "online culture" makes me wanna puke sometimes, even as I'm pulled senselessly into this vortex each and every time like a limp rag doll with no internal volition to speak of, only irresolute desires and odd id naggings that harry me across the spheres on a 24/7 schedule ... I would come up with a better profile if I could, I really would, but I can't because it's unimaginable; a profile that isn't an act of self-gratifying online hubris is quite simply impossible, isn't it? I'm just not inna mood ... All of this, to me, is inchoate wish fulfillment, and I don't even know what the wish might be ... It's somewhere, I suppose, in the spectrum between "is" and "not," or more precisely, my cock and my crown. (Which correlates to which? Your call!)

IN CONCLUSION: "For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me. With every acquaintance I make, the population of phantoms resembling me increases. Somewhere they live, somewhere they multiply. I alone do not exist." --Nabokov (I welcome messages answering this quotation with some challenger: a GAME, that's right, I've hit on a new stratagem! That'll bring the ladies buzzing in rambunctious swarms to my decaying OKCorpse! Huzzah Callay!)

FOR THE CURIOUS: "Baron Munodi" refers to a short story by Rikki Ducornet. The volatilized ceiling of ... OBVIATED: Since I've changed the name now, and I think "Zemblan Manners" will be more readily grasped, so no need for me to explicate! (I only explained the other one because it occurred to me that, in isolation, "Baron Munodi" seemed kinda ... seamy. Nefarious. Like: "Welcome to my Chalet, dear Lady, from which you shall never see fit to depart ..." Not the impression I want to make! I'm a nice guy, I am, I am!)
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
I'm working pitilessly. Which is to say, work is pitiless. Somewhat penniless, but getting by. Bootstrapping the kid, the Great Zantini himself. Mssr Bebe is pleased to use his fabulous remote control device (infrared ululations, the in thing, you know, beyond me really, I gave up on tech when my Commodore 64 refused to load a Commodore 128 game). I am content to be controlled, remotely. Looking for another device to control me. One with feminine attributes. Adult feminine attributes. Pleasing adult feminine attributes. Mlle Babes. I'm a fucking writer in my spare tire. That's not a typo. (R is not even close to M, gimme a break!) Light and dust become layers, despair becomes a sediment watered by slowness. Mssr Bebe calls from time to time, but he's disembarked from this shore to reside with mom and l'il sis. Me? I'm a drunken boat now. Hey Babe! Harbor me! Tie me ashore! You got the land, babe, I got the stakes! (No, actually, ahem, I'll need you to provide those, as well. A notable personage once said, "I'm a loser, baby, so why don't you kill me?")
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
I'm good at laughing at my own laugh-makers. I'm good at being unprepossessing. I'm good at being a handsome devil at 20 meters, and just a devil at 2. I'm good at wishing.
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
My beard. My gimlet eye. My rakish smirk. My ruthless good humor. My abysmal self-pity. Everything in between, as well as an aqueduct for these tears (joy/sorrow). My extraordinary ordinariness. My ornery otherworldliness.

UPDATE: Oh look, my back! Yes, from now on, if you're on OKCupid, the first thing you'll notice about me is my scrawny backside ... truth in advertising, ladies, that's what it's called. I'm a strong proponent. If you want to see my scruffy frontispiece, you'll simply have to click around: alight upon them softly, I advise ... be a butterfly; a kitten's kiss; the gentle dip into the current of a drunken dandy's fingertips as he whiles away the early morning hours passed out on the bank of the Seine ... (You don't want to scare the pictures away, you see, they're shy.)

SIGH UPDATE: Back, begone.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
It's been so long. I'm pulling an old rope, and the same goodies are falling as did before. I'm so sick of myself. I like good writing that either circumscribes itself expertly or zig-zags unto aesthetic skullduggery. Same goes with film. Music should be Cohen, Dylan, Springsteen, all the white male heroes, sorry! I like women, too, time to find out what, gotta leave some mystery or what's the point, eh?

UPDATE: All right, I'm going to try a more forthcoming approach, maybe that'll help ...

Currently reading [EDIT: Okay, yeah, finished (though not the Vance yet), and read some others in between ... and I think I'll stop now. There're enough books in this section! Besides which, you'd think I read a lot from all this, but fact is, I hardly have the time or energy for it. It took me a couple weeks just for my lover L.C. here ... I wish I could read more and with greater attention and concentration. (i.e., wish I was young again)]: Leonard Cohen's masterful novel Beautiful Losers. Re-reading it, actually -- read it back when I was a younger and smarter version of myself. Beautiful writing! ("the viscous blob of come in my palm thinning and clearing, like the end of Creation when all matter returns to water.") And wise! ("To discover the truth in anything that is alien, first dispense with the indispensable in your own vision.") And since Jack Vance died recently (who knew that guy was still alive?!), I've been considering tackling that omnibus Dying Earth volume that's been sitting on the bench near my door since last year ... I'm asking all the authors to hold off dying for a while -- I promise I'll get to your shit in good time, you really don't have to go to such great lengths to secure my eyeballs. (Indeed! DFW, I read your masterpiece a dozen years before you offed yourself, I was a confirmed fan! And yet even after the Sad Event, I couldn't make it 50 pages into the "unfinished POS" they fobbed off on us ... I'll try again, I promise! Stop haunting me! (Especially when I'm self-pleasuring, that's just rude -- don't they take you ghosts through some kind of an orientation? Ethics class? Well, maybe they should start!))

Currently reading [EDIT: All read. Except the Weird of course. I don't anticipate reading that one all the way through until about 2015, say? Plus, I'm reading it nonsequentially, so surely there will be stories inadvertantly skipped, etc.]: Harry Potter with my son--we're on book 4, please don't give anything away. I have the blurays, but we won't watch them until we finish the series ... I don't want to influence my interpretations of the voices! I especially enjoy doing Hagrid. I've got a beard, after all! And some portion of my heritage is Scottish. It all fits. All God's Angels, Beware by Quentin S. Crisp (not the Quentin Crisp you're thinking of). Introspective / "weird" / metaphysical / speculative stories with a strong style and refreshingly solipsistic-yet-non-onanistic thematic obsessions. The Weird, ed. VanderMeers. A vast compendium of a century's worth of weird fiction, from Lovecraft and Blackwood to Ligotti and Evenson. It's over a thousand pages of 2-columned tiny print! Which is to say, I will be "currently reading" it for some time to come ... Soon will start on Epitaph of a Small Winner by Machado de Assis which I have no idea but it looks pretty cool ... and I'll probably catch Saunders' latest from the library, as soon as they let me ...

Currently reading[EDIT: Read this stuff quite a while ago actually ... but here I am, EDITING, I don't know why, although I admit, I know exactly why: some cute girl was just looking at my profile, and she was cute enough to make me want to look at my own profile to see what horrors she was exposed to, and then I got itchy to add more horrors just in case the ones already here aren't horrific enough ... which is always the reason I add things to my profile, in response to the fact that someone attractive was recently here, thereby making me feel inadequate!]: Little, Big by John Crowley. Profound stuff, beautifully written, but why is it that fairies (in the traditional, leave-a-bowl-of-milk sense, jeez, control your righteousness! :) and pedophilia are so frequently jumbled together? And am I wrong to impute pedophilia to sentiments so innocently expressed? I just think there's a knowingness beneath. I'm only partway in, so we'll see where it all goes! [EDIT: Okay, so I finished, and I believe there is a knowingness beneath, but it's well-enough sublimated that one can set it aside and enjoy the mastery of language and culture on display ... and it owes a lot, I think, to Lewis Carroll, which itself explains a lot! It's still fresh in my mind, so I don't trust my judgments, but it has the feel of a masterpiece -- I struggle to think of anyone who combines the psychological and the fantastical so well. On second thought, though, as I read this book, I contended with a consistent frustration that the characters were rather too stuffed into their predetermined roles, no matter how well-expressed their neuroses may have been, so maybe the psychological themes ultimately fail to fructify. I must note that John Crowley is a genius at the sentence level. Tears were wept, yes mine ... one recognizes the futility of his own ambitions in the presence of unassailable betters.] The Complete Butcher's Tales by Rikki Ducornet. She sure does have a blast with language, and reminds one of a certain mad heritage we Westerners share and might prefer to leave buried in dusty textbooks where the implications are so easy to gloss over (what with our glazed eyes as we peruse those blurred, ancient serifs), but man, medievalism is the heart's mud, and I promise not to look too closely at your encrusted toes ...

Currently reading [EDIT: Last read]: The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker, pretty fun stuff, enjoyable and light, a palate cleanser. Cadenza for the Schneidermann Violin Concerto by Joshua Cohen (really, much funnier than it sounds, I swear!) [EDIT: Finished, reasonably okay for what it is.] and Magic for Beginners by Kelly Link -- so far, so okay. [EDIT: Finished. Quite enjoyable really.] All right, I've made a start on Prisoner's Dilemma by Richard Powers, which isn't as powerhouse yet as a couple others I've read from him, but you give your guy a chance based on shared history, you know? [EDIT: Never finished, too boring, returned to library.] Oh and Tropic of Cancer, it's in my car for emergency situations, so every now and then I proceed a few further pages along ... maybe I'll finish it by the end of the year, who knows? I'm not sure it's aged well; it reads like a blog.

Last read [EDIT: Recently read]: Venusia by Mark von Schlegell (I think that's how you spell his name, but I'm not getting up to check -- very cool book reminiscent of Philip Dick) and A Naked Singularity by Sergio de la Pava (great writing), and okay, I want to mention The Easy Chain by Evan Dara, even though I read it over a month ago, but that one's fantastic. Ignorance by Milan Kundera a couple weeks ago. (I've got another one out from the library now, and I dunno, I'm thinking of going through his stuff again, but maybe not, we'll see! Same with Richard Powers, I guess. You find as you get older that maybe some of the stuff you responded so passionately to when you were younger isn't quite your groove anymore, even though you don't recall skipping any particular grooves along the way. I'm going to test this potential new (for me) paradigm against Gravity's Rainbow and/or Infinite Jest sometime, both of which I read at like 20 -- if they're still "genius," then whew, there's at least some continuity of consciousness / passion in life. If I'm unimpressed, I'll sigh and hand all of Life over to my son: "Here, you do it. I just wanna go to bed, and bring me some ice cream, huh, snap snap.") Oh, I had a Brautigan bender last week -- In Watermelon Sugar and Trout Fishing in America all in one day! They're pretty short, so it's not much of an "accomplishment," but on the other hand, I'll bet you're fucking impressed, aren't you? Go on, admit it!

Music: I went to that Fiona Apple concert recently. I bought her album too because I will always buy her albums. I bought Springsteen's album too, but it's too thick for my car's finicky cd player, and I haven't yet set up my computer with the cd burner in it. But the one time I managed to listen to it, I was reasonably in favor. Oh, I just bought Jack White's album ... uh, it's okay. Leonard Cohen's my man crush. I listen to the Boston folk station on AM and "The River" on FM (the one that plays an eclectic, reasonably non-repetitive mix). I'm not especially hip, but if you are, that's primo, hopefully some of it will rub off on me. I'll be your hipster-in-training, your journeyman hipster, your wannabe hanger-on, you know you want one, it's like having a groupie except you're not famous or even rich, but you're so fucking hip that someone wants to leech on your charisma despite your being a complete loser with no ambition other than "svelte"....

UPDATE: Okay, so maybe I'll mention some of those ladies I love, why make you wait ... That new Neko Case album is electrifyingly good, of course, especially the concluding three tracks, holy shit. (Skip Track 6, however. Especially if your kid is in the car with you.) That's been in my car CD player, alternating with a couple of PJ Harvey albums I can't stop feeding myself. Something about PJ Harvey burrows deep inside me; I have to listen to her for my stomach's sake. The two albums I have are Stories from the City/Sea and Uh-Oh Her. (Something like that ... it's in the car, so I can't check right now.) I love Fiona Apple to the core ... Aimee Mann's Magnolia soundtrack has gotten heavy play in my various CD players ever since I bought it for a dollar in a Salvation Army store nearly a decade ago. Best dollar I ever spent! (And yes, ALL the Neko Case albums are glorious. Her critical word: "miles." Listen for that word throughout her career. All of Neko Case's oeuvre can be reduced to "miles" as in a mathematical equation.)

MUSIC UPDATE LIKE RIGHT NOW! (AS IN AUGUST 2014): Just thought you might like to know what I've been listening to these days ... I had this new St. Vincent album in my car for a month straight, LOVED it. I love her sense of the world, of the aesthetics of being a private person in a non-private culture, and my G-d, what a spacious and generous ROOM of Music she creates! The instruments are clear and each is given its own little corner in which to express itself! You can hear the thinking. Beautiful stuff, I'm in love! I've also recently discovered this band, Arcade Fire ... Their album The Suburbs was on sale at B&N, so I went ahead ... I'd vaguely heard of them before, so somewhere in my past, some trusted venue or acquaintance had vouched for them ... the first listen led to my statement of "huh," but I found myself drawn to listen again ... and again ... one of those albums that just grows and blossoms with each listen. I started hearing deeper secrets and vaster epiphanies ... the music is full of subtleties and pleasing allusions to my own stalwart heroes: I heard Laurie Anderson, Bruce Springsteen, Wilco, you name it ... I keep listening, and it keeps touching me in new ways.

TV: I haven't had cable TV in years. Never paid for it myself, anyway! I did catch half of the recent Battlestar Galactica remake, and it blew me away. I have the rest on DVD (all copied from Netflix a while back when I was building up a little library for myself to enjoy on my own schedule as opposed to Netflix's), and I plan to watch the rest this summer when my son (who's too young for that show) is not underfoot.

UPDATE: Finished the Battlestar Galactica series this summer. Thematically, the ending sucked, but it was still a fun conclusion, and it didn't diminish the overall achievement of the series.

ANOTHER UPDATE (AUGUST 2014): I watched True Detective, Season 1 recently. I found the acting beautiful -- I was surprised by McConowhee, who's apparently developed some range and some chops since last I tuned out (mid-90s) ... So I may look into his career a little more closely someday. The series is not what it was hyped to be: I thought it would be this Weird Fiction Cosmic Horror that it was portrayed to be by so many in the "Social Internet," but it turned out to be traditional Stephen King-type "horror," nothing at all like Thomas Ligotti or HP Lovecraft. So whatever! I thought the acting was deeply felt, and if you leave out the final episode, you have a truly riveting story!!

Movies: Okay, I won't go overboard this time, as with the books ... Just some titles! Solaris. Magnolia. Synecdoche, NY. Taxi Driver. The Hustler. The Man Who Fell to Earth. 2001. Raiders of the Lost Ark. Badlands. Pulp Fiction. Jules and Jim. The 400 Blows. Well, those are the ones that came to mind during this cigarette, which was my hourglass. An okay list, I guess. But I'll add Harold and Maude and The Princess Bride for laughs, eh? I like laughing!

Food: summer is yogurt and berries time. It's about all I eat in the summer!
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
Son. Sun. Pockets. The woman of my dreams that is reading this sequence of words even now. That's, uh, four. Literature. Obscenity (sex included).
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
The nature of man. The duality of man. Sorrow/joy. Ecstasy/apathy. Thematics.
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
Awaiting my fever dream gal! Sweating and panting for YOU, babe!
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
I masturbate frequently.

UPDATE: This doesn't indicate a psychological disorder; rather, it indicates I'm a Single Man. My position in the Whacking-It Bell Curve may shift somewhat leftish if you and I "get to know each other," but I'll still be located well within the 1st or 2nd SD, I'm afraid. Even the Affiliated Gentleman has to Whack It, sister.
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
You're interested / attracted / puzzled / affected / crazy / head-over-heels / disgusted / resigned / frustrated / intrigued. Well, you know why you should message me, come on, YOU LIKE ME. You SHOULDN'T message me if: you're humorless / misbegotten / forgettable / miserable / ugly / angry / sigh / lol / blarf.

ADDENDUM: I'm an acquired taste. Few will wish to acquire it, trust me. A select club of fantastic women will wish to acquire it. . . . "Acquisition" is key. If you find my profile comprehensible, or more specifically, if you have enjoyed my profile, then you may be a member already! You are one of those who should message me! I probably won't message you, frankly, unless you message me because I will not spend so much time composing a message to an interesting lady only to receive no reply whatsoever once the recipient has read my profile and run screaming from her computer-containing room with a shaky cigarette (successfully lit on the fourth attempt) on the porch and maybe a little unaccustomed acid reflux flavoring the smoke until she's calmed herself and made "resolutions". . . .

ADDENDUM # 2: I've decided to add "casual sex" to my list of "what I'm looking for." I'm not sure what that term even means, which made me reluctant to checkmark it, but I do want sex, after all, and looking back I think all the sex I've ever had (such as it was) was "casual." (I'm taking "casual" to mean that love qua love is not a major factor. Not that "love" lacks significance or priority in my system of desires, but that "love" is apparently extraordinarily unavailable or at least difficult to attain, whereas mere affection or attraction is a sufficient condition for me to say "yes, dear." And sex is too profound and deeply wonderful to set such a high bar to its attainment . . . especially for one who's had just too darn little of it in his life! Come on, sex, where are you? Can't you hear me whistling?) I think, however, that adding this addendum makes me look like a bozo. Well, I do look like a bozo. Come off like a bozo. Maybe I'm half bozo. Hey babe. [All right, I've unchecked it now ... wasn't achieving either "casual" or "sex," just "bozo," so why pretend?] [Okay, rechecked it! What if Princess Charming just happens to be filtering her search through "Casual Sex" some upon some darksome midnight? She (you!) won't find me otherwise!!!]

ADDENDUM # 3: I feel it necessary to mention that I'm looking for someone to excite me. I want to read your profile and feel a visceral frisson. If you message me, please do it with panache! Flavor! I want to know your soul from reading your words! I want to feel connected. If it isn't clear: I need you to display passion and intelligence. Those qualities can assume many forms, and whether you're the positive or negative type doesn't matter -- what matters is the inflection of the world you have introduced simply in being yourself. Is it a strong inflection? A unique one?

Sending me a message that says, "Hi, I like your profile," will not succeed one little bit in arousing my interest. Send me a message that demands my attention, and make sure the profile at the other end of my mouse click is equally demanding.

In sum, my dream woman will be more intelligent than I am. So prove it! ;D

ADDENDUM # 3.a: Okay, so maybe my profile is a little ... intimidating or something like that mumble mumble. So I got all "carried away" & shit, yo I ain't like dat bro, my tears be cryin'! Well, I ain't like that either. (aren't, ahem ... amn't?)

I just like writing, you know, and I *write* a full order of intelligence smarter than I actually *am*, I swear. It's not that hard at all to exceed my IQ, I occupy the category of "Middling Smart" ... And besides, even if your IQ didn't exceed mine, it wouldn't matter because IQ tests only measure a select few fatuous and trivial barometers of intelligence, and who selected those barometers? White moms trying to get their sons (& daughters) into college! That's who! Break it down, sister! Which is to say, chances are you're smarter than me, totally, and don't sweat the sweet words you've been salving on your brain pan ever since you clicked the magic OKCupid "Send Me To Paradise" button (which sent you here) and my divine features shone out from your screen with such brilliance that dead pixels are now scattered redly across your laptop, interfering with your desperate scanning of the lines, your quest for clues to locate the hidden Passport to Wonderfulness that will admit you unto my Dreamboat Presence. Well, as a matter of fact, in the Gift Shop, you'll find that the Passports are well stocked and ON SALE, so there's nothing I said NOTHING standing between you and the Perfection that is Me, NOTHING at all but FEAR ITSELF. And maybe you're not cute enough. That could be a problem! ;)

ADDENDUM # 4: I have floated in the juices let by lunatics from their brains, and found the waves so gentle I could balance grains of rice on their ends.

But my boat is wrecked now, and I'm stranded in this Alcatraz. My rice is all consumed by rats and my furniture rests on the ceiling.

I appeal to you, My Love, free me from the isle of walls. I know you're somewhere in the world.

Please hurry!

ADDENDUM # 5: "How more tidy had it been to have been born old and have aged into a child, brought finally to the brink, not of the grave, but of the womb; in our age bred up into infants searching for a womb to crawl into, not be made to walk loth the gingerly dust of death, but to find a moist, gill-flirted way." --Djuna Barnes, Nightwood

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