Somewhere along the line people forget that the exciting things are the smell of fresh bread, naps hidden in tall grass, jumping in puddles and being led to secret places, blindfolded. If you close yourself and abandon the wonder in this world, you may find later you can not manage to buy it back.

I am an emissary from that naive world before we were taught that we were ugly and broken. I invite you to initiate diplomatic proceedings at any consular picnic in any park, playground or reclaimed private space. Let us foment, for living is revolutionary.

Learning to say "yes."

Constructing elegant models and systems of conduct so excruciatingly fair that it is impossible to live according to their dictates -- and then doing so. Sooner or later, we do have to sleep in the bed we make.

Is there a man behind that beard? It's a long beard, so it must be a tall man.

There are simply too many -- and is the winning strategy to recommend the ones I think you ought to consume or to throw out the names of ones I can at least expect you to recognise? Suffice it to say that I am out of the loop of the wasteful first-run economy; if it can eventually turn up at the library, I may get around to bringing myself up to speed.

There may well be masterpieces being produced in the mainstream today, but I do not think we will necessarily be able to recognise them without a couple of decades for them to ferment; in the meantime, I consume the work produced by the small, independent creators living in my community who will really benefit from my support and input; the legions of middlemen in New York, Chicago and Los Angeles don't deserve my dollars more than my neighbors do.

And then there is food. I get a kick out of baking bread and desserts, simmering sauces and curries. I thrill at farmers' markets even without buying anything -- and when possible I eat out of my own backyard. Few flavours can satisfy like the fruits of your own two hands.

I have done without a great deal over the past few years, so this may end up woefully literal. Let us assume Oxygen and move right along to: 1) Food/drink and 2) Shelter. While I have preferences, I'm not terribly picky, and may default toward simplicity: bread and water? Bring it on! (And on the right sunny hill, nothing more save the right company is necessary for a picnic!) 3) would be a corner in which to rest my head -- generally a bed but a sofa has often proved just as good. 4) Clothing would help me in engaging the world without violating its tangle of indecency laws; next I would have to prioritize 5) pen and paper, however complicated my scrivening relationship between them due to a motor reflex misfire, and 6) a working bicycle -- nothing fancy, just two wheels and at least one working brake.

It would break my heart to part from my accordion, but it is hardly necessary as long as I can hum and whistle; similarly, while I /enjoy/ having internet access at my fingertips, I'm not convinced that it's actually to my betterment.

(Has he no extravagances? Certainly no indispensable ones: I also fancy travel from time to time, but it's hardly a cornerstone of my somewhat Spartan day to day life of minimalism, if not outright deprivation. As for entertainment -- I have a rich internal life.)

This question is ill-conceived; since my brain (and the mind it contains) is where my "me" lives, "I" cannot trade brains -- only bodies.

And, y'know, I'm pretty okay with the one I've got now.

(Oh, I see... they've gone and changed the question around. Don't I look irrelevant! I must say much of my time is preoccupied with pondering how to live the change necessary to enact the radical reform Western Civilization demands to be sustainable... without becoming rejected from it as an irrelevant outlier. These contemplations are almost certainly academic exercises as it's dead certain I've already achieved that esteemed IO status.)

The second revision of this question needs to take some new factors into account. Previously, my answers might have included: setting up an art gallery for some cultural event or another; take-out perogy dinner 1st Fridays from the Ukrainian community hall at 10th and Main -- summers I retreat with my cabbage rolls and borscht to picnic at a park; running the "57 Varieties" open stage / variety show at Spartacus Books, holding down the fort with carefully curated squeezebox gems and endless announcements that "I'm not here to tell anybody what to do" (since moved to the third /Tuesday/); and some note that the last Friday of the month, typically the 4th, is of course the monthly Critical Mass group bicycle ride -- vigorous exercise for your body (politick).

In the meantime I have ceased to operate an art gallery and have taken up the reins of broadcasting: 9:30-10:30 pm every Friday night, provided I am not gigging elsewhere (a more frequent factor than you might imagine), I co-host the world's only all-accordion radio / podcast show on the Co-op station, keeping up the patter and colour commentary while the other host mans the mixing board and the phones.

It was suggested that in a rare gap you might get me all to yourself, but there is no such opening now. (Didn't you miss your chance!)

that I will answer truthfully, to the best of my ability, any question I am asked; I have no private things, only discretion. (For this I coined a neologism, "extimacy"... only to find that Lacan beat me to it. Admittedly, as most of them are, it's pretty wretched.)

you think that you have something to say that I would find interesting, or that I have something to say that you would find interesting. (Duh!)