48 Mercer Island, United States
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My self-summary
Family values; mission oriented, too spontaneous, outgoing, love nature and animals, and they (like most people) love me (....if [sadly] for many of the the **wrong** reasons); 6'1", medium complected, easy enough on the eyes, easily approachable and readily smileful, gregarious, witty, articulate, out-of-the-box edgy, with a tendency to reside at the deep end of the pool, bad-boyish (not fake) but in a good way, and with a high-brow stylish punkish in-your-face look about me that has people sometimes giving me the rock star-like treatment (seriously) despite which, of course, i am decidedly not (except on certain venues not really relevant here); but sometimes stupidly fearless in defense of "right" and honour but otherwise selflessly tame and civil to a near fault; engaging and easily immersed in relevant dialogue and absorbed by simple pleasures (not excluding seemingly sourceless reflections, bearly discernible movement[s] and small shiny objects); gravitationally analytical, intellectually nimble and spiritually complex with eyes that naturally gravitate to form--easily absorbing the space between the lines, unnecessarily lonesome even in the midst of adoring friends & acquaintances--despite my seemingly unaccountable popularity--and at a loss to satisfactorily discern my seeming inability to be more frequently otherwise (currently blaming Slipknot, Mudvayne and Psychostick along with my own internalized goth-grounding and pregrunge motif, including my oft obvious emo, goth, anime & nerd/geek-friendliness). I'm soo strange--if i could only be more easily coaxed out of the shell i seem to carry around with me. Oddly, i remain utterly fearless and, according to a recent article, "... BadAss to the bone," a reference to my having been credited with saving two lives within eight days of one another, a witness description, "hell-on-wheels in a scrap" (in defense against 3 men on a bus) and my role as the real-life character, Bass Reeves (1848-1910) in the promotional commercial prerelease video for the BADASS series.
What I’m doing with my life
...hmm......?? Where to begin....
at the beginning of 5th Grade no one in my school would have thought me the sharpest tool in the shed nor most likely to succeed, with the possible exception of Mr. B, a tall lanky pasty-faced guy with a dandruff-emitting semi-blond crew-cut (aka. **flat-top**) and flakes of dead skin on his face and around his nose which rained down in horrid masses onto one's desk, books and paper whenever he bent over to help or inspect our work assignments. he was universally thought of as one of the living dead as we'd seen pictures and movie billboards of them and knew in no uncertain terms that he was OBVIOUSLY one of THEM--a factoid made abundantly clear by virtue of his unmistakeable decomposition before our very eyes. he was tactile and did not seem to mind being hated, despised and ridiculed daily for his wanton redistributive effusion of decadent flesh, and with not a glimmer of lucidity which might suggest that he was alive and aware of his notorious death state. moreover, he was a veritable giant of a creature with legs longer than any i'd ever seen on any other living hominid, oft' facilitating his movement from the front to the back of the classroom in 4 or 5 steps, a fact which only served to prove our point: Mr. B IS and ALWAYS HAS BEEN DEAD!! having scoured the content of every anthropological encyclopedia i could find in an utterly futile quest to discern a match for his would-be genome type, i confidently concluded that he must surely be a product of mixed parentage with one of whom being at least part sasquatch. hence, any glimmer of doubt as to the existence of Big Foot was--like Mr. B himself--DEAD!! quite despite this fact, and in hindsight two decades removed, Mr. B would emerge as a seminal figure and a living hero among mentors to whom i owe sooo much and will forever be insatiably indebted. he and he alone took the time to observe, internalize and reside in the notion that my brain was processing differently than those of my peers. he'd make me stay at the end of the day, ostensibly to punish me for not seeming to pay attention. but once he was able to conclude that my grasp of abstract concepts and comprehension of the class material was beyond the norm he secretly generated a curve and fashioned advanced assignments pegged to the curve and forced me to stay late and work the additional assignments as a requisite condition for my departure fully expecting an accelerated rate of completion on pain of having to stay longer, and i did not disappoint. realizing that my in-class hyperactivity was in fact boredom, and knowing that i had a crush on suzie sakamoto, a straight-A student, he moved her to the front of the class, center row, and left empty the desks on either side of her. she did not seem to care. but i did... because i'd always sat near to her so that i could engage her in conversations in which she never participated or even seemed present for. on the following day i placed my books on a desk next to suzie's new seat and was sternly reminded that my seat was three rows back and that if i wanted to be assigned to one of the empty seats in the front row i'd have to earn it and that that applied to everyone. this admonition was probably delivered with a certain tongue-in-cheek as i recall and received to the tune of unbridled snickering as no one in his or her **right mind** would want to sit any closer to Mr. B than might be required with his seeming witless slinging of dead flesh and dandruff every which way and legs and arms that just seemed to be all over the place. and i really felt that i hated Mr. B as that was the prevailing sentiment and the only socially acceptable posture and i knew that i'd never risk contamination by placing myself in a position to be immersed in his rain. that was on a wednesday. friday i'd left a note in his desk respectfully requesting reassignment to one of the two empty desks in the front row. the following monday he pulled me out of class during a pop quiz, pulled the note out of his pocket and showed it to me without saying anything. he'd pretty much shoved it in my face and held it there as though it were a piece of incriminating evidence or something. after several silent seconds i backed up, threw my cap and eraser on the ground and screamed **WHAT?!! I DIDN'T DOO ANYTHING!!,** before turning to walk away. i didn't know where i was going but i knew that i was leaving school and that i wasn't going home because i'd almost ran away from home the year before w hen i was ten and knew that i could do it anytime i wanted to and now just seemed about right. i'd HAD IT!! .... ENOUGH ALREADY!! when i was ten i'd taken one of the family cars (a '49 Nash with camel hair seats. a whale bone steering wheel, 3-speed column-shift and curtains on the rear passenger windows, HUGE interior) and driven it all the way out to renton (a distance of about 13.6 miles) whilst my dad was at work. he'd have tanned my hide and totally reduced me to road kill had he caught me. but he didn't, and the thought of doing it again was piercing the forefront of my conscience as i walked away damaged, slightly confused and soothingly angry with the notion of hauling off and socking Mr. B if he moved to so much as touch me. i'd seen danny pickett do it a couple of weeks prior but no one had seen him since and i didn't want to end up nowhere lost to no one and being seen by no one and no one seeming to care. all i knew in that moment was that i wanted OUT! NOW!! FINISHED!! I'M F_CKIN' DONE!!!

**.....likes you,** he was saying. so concentrated was i on the notion of running away that, beyond a point, i hadn't heard a word. i spun around and whilst backing away offered, **s'cuse me?**

**i didn't say you had and i........** i cut him off with, **had what?**

**done anything. i didn't say that you'd done anything...... at all,** he'd gone on to repeat,

**well then what the heck are we DOING HERE?!!** i was puzzled and fuming.

**she's a smart girl and i'm pretty sure that she likes you.,** he mouthed with a devilishly rye smile before picking up my eraser and cap and flinging the cap toward me in the manner of a frizbee. but his aim was intentionally short and forced me to move toward the cap and him, the class and suzie....


Ignoring my rant, **It's obvious,** he was saying, ** you can't see it but I caan.**

**who likes me,** i feigned upon catching the cap nearly as though i hadn't heard him correctly.

**but you'd have to earn it........that's if you really want her.** he seemed to be challenging me and i did not appreciate it--now was NOT THE TIME.

**EARN WHAT, MISTER B?!!** i was yelling again,l frustrated, impatient, still a bit confused and on the verge of tears. i could feel them coming and it only made me madder.

**stop yelling, she'll hear you,** he whispered and motioned with a finger to his lips and pushing downward on the air with this other palm as he turned to open the classroom door. i bent down to pick up my eraser and, while there, Mr. B reappeared to throw the bathroom pass which hit me in my shoulder and dropped to the ground. whereupon he again loudly whispered half-gutterally, **take a pee and splash your face--she's a keeper.** he winked and withdrew before closing the door. he winked at me. he frikkin' WINKED AT ME!! sorry queer basterd, i was p/o'd and exhausted .
.... and crying on the way to the bathroom, but i had to hurry as i could not let anyone see my face. for the next week or so i was fidgety but engaged, behaved and answering questions and giving summations. i was asking relevant and complex questions targeted for the heart of whatever the subject was--usually theoretical math or social studies from an advanced civics perspective (so 5th grade already......NOT). three weeks later i'd aced everything in the interim and was awarded a silver star for **most improved** and moved to an empty desk in the front row at the head of the class next to suzie. she ignored me at first but within a few days she was smiling at me and i could have sworn that she intentionally dropped her pencil and i practically knocked over my own desk in a nearly successful attempt to catch it before it hit the floor. it was the first time i'd seen or heard her laugh and seen her smile since 3rd grade. she was proper and polite and thanked me with a smile and a bowed head, as was the custom in her first generation triditional conservative family (which had spent WWII in an american concentration camp and lost their home and all their possessions--largely because of the shape of their eyes). i about melted and knew that it was a feeling that i wanted to experience again and again and that i was locked into an involuntary achievement cycle which produced a sort of magic which need never be surrendered as long as suzie was seated next to me. i became a voracious reader and was permitted to read anything i wanted while the rest of the class did work assignments. i still had to turn in the written work but i no longer had to be visibly paying attention as long as i was willing to participate in discussions when called upon to do so. i was offered but had to decline the TA job because it meant i'd have to stay after school and never see suzie beyond the classroom--not that i'd ever have a snowball's chance of walking her home or even part way. But I had to be available just in case :-)
I’m really good at
hmm.... minding my own business (perhaps you've tried that =)) and sensing when not to. But when folks JUST WON'T let a sleeping dog lay, well....
Where to begin--again..

i don't really **date** except that i do look for opportunities to share life with (a) certain qualified person(s). having spent more than a year (2.76yrs to date) in search of just such a person, i was fairly satisfied that i'd found her as manifest in the first person to coax me into an actual non-business post-cyber meet. having progressed to talking nightly on the phone for hours,day in and day out for 2-3 weeks,we agreed to meet and she insisted that it be at her apartment. fine. i stuffed my pack with fine wine,travel scrabble,candles,my vibrating pillow ((DON'T you EVEN )) and other stuff and bussed and peddled my bike the sixteen or so miles to her place only to find that her porch light wasn't on--it actually was but,having arrived at the incorrect address,i didn't know that at the time. fine,i'll call her--no phone. so,whilst riding around in search of a pay phone i was jacked- up by no less than five cops in three patrol cars,my bicycle was impounded and i was jailed in Des Moins (seatac) for riding w/o a helmet and held for sixpost-9/11 days. no date--she thought i stood her up. everyone in my jail tank was being held on felony charges except me. i was embarrassed to admit the helmet charge and had been laughed at and joked about. this is a place absent dialogue where the talk is often loud and mostly about crack,meth,crimes and sports. on or about the second day i introduced the only unused game in a raggedy boxof well-used cards,makeshift dominos and misc. checkers,to wit, scrabble. i was summarily dismissed by all but one,and so we began a game. a bored third person shuffled in to take a look and i explained the rules and the two of us played quietly until a group of gamblers belittled our game and aggressively demanded the table for themselves on the pretext that this was a gaming table (which it was) and that scrabble wasn't really a game and couldn't be considered a **players game** in any event. i was slow to react but eventually gave in. always one to find treasure where others scoff,i scored an advanced math--applied-- and an Earth Sciences 101 text from a boxof discards and was quite happy to lay low and beyond focus for the next couple of days,whereupon,since (despite my best effort to the contrary) i'd suddenly become everyone's personal resource and reference library, some idiot saw fit to inject me into a loud argument involving no less than 8 or 9 people and probably more. the subject was mj and the exact argument vague and nonspecific as they were all rabid mj fans. someone wanted me to agree that mj was more popular than the beatles. i suggested that the assumption would have to be qualified--perhaps in straight numbers but not necessarily in relative ones considering evolved demographics,percentage of sales relative to industry size and media format/access then and now,etc. in a jail tank where virtually everyone was black or hispanic my position was instantly unpopular and suddenly everyone was angry and screaming and seemed to be shouting at me. i was waaay outnumbered but not surrounded as mine was a lower bunk at the end of the row and next to the door. the guards suddenly appeared and threatened us whereupon the volume was lessened for a bit. then another direct challenge,**how the f_ck you gonna tell me michael ain't bigger'n da beels,boy you,...** i interrupted to suggest that if mj were bigger than the beatles then he’d be bigger than jesus. and THAT DID NOT go over well at all. sensing a turn for the worst i simply went about reminding them of john lennon's **bigger than jesus** statement but was cut off and disrespected in the process. i warned that there was no need to get personal and somebody yelled,**iss already personal,boy!!** and others seemed to agree. then the loudest voice,which came from the youngest and most immature person in the tank chimed in to say,**michael jackson is the most popular person,singer,and entertainer of all-time and always will be.** and then directing his comment at me he said,**.... ain't michael jackson all-time? who don't like mickael jackson? everybo'luv mickael. EVERY-BO-DY!! jes tell m'dis: who don't like mickael jackson?!! WHO?!!** he was from a lower-income economically deprived black chicago neighborhood,had been in seattle about a year and had spent most of that time in jail. his entirely scope of experience was limited to a few square blocks of a chicago neighborhood and a scant association with street life in close proximity to a king county jail. he sold drugs on the streets of seattle and had never knowingly been in the presence of people to whom mj was not a heroic icon and was,at this point,manifestly incapable of imagining it. he pressed on, **who? I SAID WHO?!!** mixed with another voice yelling,**dat boy know dam well evvybody like michael cos peepos luuh michael and..** everyone again seemed to agree and the din was suddenly so loud that the guards flicked the lights off and on to remind us of their earlier warning. there was a momentary pause and the volume was such that i was able to say,**no one is liked by EVERYBODY. and A LOT of people don't like michael jackson.** i'd scarcely got the words out when a new voice sneered,**who,YOU? maybe some punk ass white boys,but you ain't nobody,BOY!!** before i could stop myself i was out of my bunk, on my feet violently shoving the table out of the way and into a couple of corner bunks,toppling a couple of chairs. i found myself center stage,surrounded and aggressively moving forward toward upper-bunk fat-mouth and his 2 or 3 lower-bunk friends, **i'm not your boy,PUNK!! and i give less than a f_ck. unlike michael jackson and certain people who like him i'm no PUNK!! and if you don't like it you KNOW what time it is; nobody's stoppin' you from bein' stupid if you wanna get busy. i don't give a f_ck 'bout you likin' michael jackson-- UNDERSTAND THAT,BOY!! but EVERYBODY doesn't like THAT PUNK!! a lot of people think he's a baby-rapin' peterpuffin' child-molesti'n BITCH!! and i don't truck with child molesters and RAPISTS--THEY ARE NOT HEROES TO ME!! and that SICK PUKE bleached himself so that he wouldn't have to be black. and the kid's affidavit described the discoloration on his genitals PRECISELY. why do you think he paid the kid 24-million dollars? NO,a LOT OF PEOPLE....(pause)....(all quiet).....think baby rapers SUCK!! this isn't about who likes some singer regardless of who it is. this is about civility and whether you turn a blind eye to child rape and whether you make an exception for michael jackson or anyone else no matter HOW BIG he is. this has to do with right and wrong and how you'd want your sons and little brothers to be protected under similar circumstances.....** i went on,calming down,but trembling inside, and lectured quietly for another minute or two before the lights went out and i hit the sack. people mumbled and talked in hushed tones and it was really quiet as i fell asleep. i didn't care. i was still miffed but exhausted and a bit depressed and i just wanted to sleep. the following afternoon,still feeling like something needed to be settled,i deliberately moved large loud-mouthed gamblers table off to a corner of the tank whilst most were taking their daily hour in the day room and replaced it with the small wobbly table with uneven legs and deeply-etched gang sign., thereupon placing scrabble board and blocks neatly arranged and squarely centered. i then sat back on my bunk and waited for everyone's return. they filed-in in ones,twos and threes,some talking or laughing and others taking note of the new arrangement and speaking in hushed or otherwise muted tones. when everyone was in and the iron door shut no one approach either table and most seemed to be waiting to see what would happen. behind bars every fight must be regarded as a death play. but the death play had been the previous night and,having been there,i had been ready to die--they,apparently,were not. who would be willing to open the ball on this occasion..... i waited. five or sixminutes went by but no one made a move. so,i got up and took a seat at the raggedy little scrabble table and proceeded to pour the tiles into a clean sock and began shaking them as though they really needed to be mixed up. given the quietness of the tank the sound of the scrabble tiles was really loud and i saw and felt all eyes upon me. the kid with whom i'd played a couple of days before was facing me,laying on his side, head in hand in the upper bunk and about to continue a book he'd begun reading. i glanced up at him in time enough to see his eyes move from me to the open pages before him. clearly,he wanted no part of this. but i continued,knowing that he'd feel my gaze and eventually look to confirm it. he did. and when he did i smiled,shook the tile-laden sock toward him and said,**there are more words here,** and began reciting the rules of the game in a voice so low that he couldn't at first discern what i was saying and others probably thought that i was talking to myself. i wasn't that certain of my intent other than it seemed timely for me to become perfectly obnoxious as i allowed my volume to increase. he suddenly appeared less sheepish,smiled,closed his book and jumped down to take a seat at the table. one of the three hispanics in the tank ambled over to take a look at the board and i continued to speak ever more loudly. once i made clear that one need neither be a great speller nor come armed with an extensive vocabulary,suddenly there were three of us--two whites,a black guy and an hispanic onlooker. we three pulled tiles and began the game. within ten minutes a fourth someone pulled up a chair to observe and a few minutes later wanted in. he requesting a rack and some tiles and then there were four. laughing and talking and having a great time, five of us finished the game and immediately started another. seven finished the next game and others wanted in. the little scrabble table was surrounded by fully eight or ten players by that time and a few onlookers. fully two-thirds of the tank were involved in one way or another. scrabble had suddenly become the dominant game and the loud-mouthed bullies were silenced,two of whom became scrabble converts. over the next couple of days guys were scouring the deck, tank by tank,begging,borrowing and/or outright stealing in an effort to procure scrabble sets and extra pieces. many more happy uproarious games would be played before i left as scrabble was hands down the most popular game in the tank and i suddenly became possibly the single most popular and well-liked prisoner on the entire deck. i spent the last day fending off requests for contact info as i'd made lots of would-be friends,had no known enemies and i was going home.

As to what I do best?? ... hmm, where to end....
The first things people usually notice about me
First: My hair.
Next: Their secret list of persons they think they want me to intimidate or make disappear;
Then: the fact that they can't see my eyes and that i might have issues with what they're thinking;
Perhaps finally. They notice that the light has faded and the music has taken on a foreboding undertone.forcing them to interpret my smile as a harbinger for a "bad day" as dittoed by the precipitation 'neath an area of their clothing and totally miss that i'm whimsically approachable with a heart as big as the sky and probably less than some angstrom away from being a complete dork, just give me a moment--you'll probably be rewarded with a GREAT LAUGH at my expense.

Shortly after which you-vil-be CRUSHED!!

(meaning, of course, you'll have an instant crush on me. :-b)
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
I suppose Ive read roughly 1700-or-so actual books and, of course, 1,000s of articles, periodicals, industrial and political journals, academic and scientific "papers" and such which, thankfully, escape the spectra of being defined as books despite every resemblance to the same (e.g., Foreign Affairs magazine, ect.) given that books should never be that predictable nor so consistently boring--especially when felt to be required reading. In point of fact I don't like use of the term "favorite" here largely because i seem devoid of the common sense necessary to simply throw out a few titles that I feel good about as would be perfectly acceptable to common folk in polite society and ordinary circumstances. Not that my thinking on the point is linear, but I've a tendency to associate a fine title with other fine titles by the same author who may have written dozens and dozens of books, many of which qualify equally, before referencing the next author of multiple-qualifying titles ad nauseam with no discernible end in sight. On the other hand, I rather liked (biting a tactical bullet here) JOHNATHAN LIVINGSTON SEAGULL........ Ouch (that hurt)!!

Movies, food, DON'T get me started, LOL

I've been a rocker since i was tiny but because my natural parents were from different cultural exposures my influences were quite diverse and consisted of a mixture of rock, r&b, classical operetta, musicals, country, gospel, picklebarrel and bluegrass/folk. I still know some musicals by heart and would be considered well-versed in classical--having played a number or instruments (classical) and played in local bands including two of my own, to wit, FREYED RICE and METAL-COCK. I've always loved the opera for the stories and imagery. I took my mom to see Aida last year despite criticism from my clueless sisters because my mother's condition has left her practically blind and no real short-term memory. But it doesn't matter because in-the-moment experiences are just as valuable. Moreover every lady loves feeling special on the arm of a guy who looks GREAT in a tux (even though my juxtaposition to convention is such that I've gone in jeans and duckies occasionally, lol, screw'um if they can't take a joke). So here's a CLUE: I have a teal blue Mohawk, am 6'1", strong as an ox, sharp as a tack and with an "IM N YO FACE--GET OFF ME PLANET, MUTHAF'CKA" look about me that seems so totally hot to everyone, what should they expect? Some of them know me as the violin virtuoso I was as a kid playing publicly and privately all over he'll and gone (apparently my parents' idea of a joke). But Sounders amongst them would know me from Cub Scouts or Boy Scouts or 4H, FFA, Drum Corps, Junior Achievement, etc. Throngs of others think they know me from somewhere but can't quite connect the dots. Despite which people seem to luv me, for which I am grateful and even my adversaries show unsolicited respect. That said, so why doesn't everyone just kiss the ring and do what I want, you ask--who knows. Go figure, just clueless im guessin', LOL
I spend a lot of time thinking about
A native sounder, my borderless geomorphic home range is best defined as an area between the upper outer slopes of the Olympics and Cascades from northern BC to an area just north of the Columbia where the trees are less sparse and the moss more dense and green. Having lived on the sound or Lake Washington. or in close proximity to related bodies of water nearly all my life, this is my home, the stuff of my honing, and may, in some sense, account for my steadfast amazement and why i continue to marvel at conventional reinforcement of a social construct which encourages us to express if not articulate value for what we "do for a living" well-beyond the slightest notion that we are better served and more accurately defined by what we do for a life. With pokers in the fire all over the place, acting and writing reviews for post-SIFF pre-release screenings of films soon to open in local cinemas are more of a socio-recreational pursuit and things that i do for fun and the zesty ripple that they add to the overall quality of my life and are nonetheless a singular component of the composite of things that i do for a life but possibly not what i'd be doing with a "significant other" as a lifestyle fixture. But it gets me out of the office and into the theatre several times per week, usually alone and oft' by choice but increasingly not.

My current profession(s) as a public policy analyst and doctrinal research associate (clandestine hotshot consultant to a quorum of alternative policy think tanks) is the thing i do less for a living than out of passion and the need to shape organized resistance to illicit power. But i do it (fight the "good fight") because it simply MUST be done and someone must do it, getting it "right" nearly always the first time. If the same could be said for my private social life you'd surely not be reading this as i'd surely not be profiled here. Immersed in the inner trappings of my primary work space too much of the time, it's fair to say that sometimes I don't get out much beyond that and meetings, an occasional reception or black tie event, some fortuitous biking, camping or backpacking if I'm lucky--winter and fall being my preferred seasons. The remainder of my social life is primarily civic in nature, i.e., my civic life IS my social life except that working with the homeless and documenting post-recession--i.e. current depression--homelessness puts me on the streets of (mostly) Seattle quite a lot now. But my search for persons of quality who exhibit the potential to become "true friends" (a standard rarely achieved, though there is something to be said for effort) and who aspire toward a certain "purity of heart" relentlessly continues and sets the parameters for my primary underlying personal quest, with selflessness as the paradoxically central component to my core value matrix. I suppose, given thus, i remain a complex soul but not at all complicated and, in the interest of full disclosure, I fully expect to be quite easily smitten by she who merely possesses real thoughts that are original, spacious, engaging, and at least reasonably selfless and whose sense (or manner) of class-, race- and/or age-consciousness be not an impediment to inter-personal unity and productive growth-oriented dialogue. I don't care if you're 18 or 40-something or whatEVER--any girl (beyond my own class of colleagues, e.g., i don't date actresses or models aspiring to become actresses) who cares about the quality of the lives of others--known and unknown--and has faith in the human spirit, christened in the unbridled belief that each of us can, not only make a difference but, BE THE DIFFERENCE and is open to the not-so-subtle insight that critical mass may be upon us, that the viability of this primordial stone may be in the balance and/or that our very lives may be at stake, but whose vibrant mental energy exudes a confidence that we, as a species, can turn this ship around--and moreover, one who can embrace the notion that codification of an ethical self-image and internalization of selflessness as a core value may be essential to becoming the positive source of the ripple effect which impels others (friends, neighbours, strangers, [and especially children] and all whose lives one touches) to be subtle ambassadors for righteousness, siblinghood and peace--earthly, interstellar and otherwise has, without question, my undivided attention and a prophetic path to my own precious heart. I just want someone to listen to, read from and/or interact with whose life is about something other than them; who is not so obsessed with material enrichment, fitting a desired class image, enhancing their romantic options, masking uncomfortable truths and/or doing combat with those who selflessly and manifestly have their very best interest at heart to the extreme detriment of one's own--someone whose job does not seem to be to control or crush my spirit nor enhance some personal experience at the expense of others; someone without an agenda; someone who, and whose alliance, can neither be bought nor bartered, i.e.., someone who will not be a prostitute for the aspirations of antagonists; someone who is not content to take, or travel with those who are content to maintain a traveling presence upon, the low road; someone who, despite her own faults and shortcomings, is wanting to articulate a "can do" intent to be a better person; someone who fears not to set the bar a little higher with each chronological increment. One need neither support nor underwrite my research, nor be like me nor even ever intimate a prognosis for love or personal caring for or about me over and above a "higher calling." In my life, it is very nearly never, if ever, about me, nor should it be. None of which alters the simple fact that I continue to desire the presence of someone to talk to, to listen to and from whom to indulge a viable belief that I retain the capacity to effectively nurture, and be nurtured by, a kindred spirit.

Although my quest is, in part, an effort to secure a suitable match, my strategy has been focused on cultivating quality acquaintanceships with the expectation that a rising star will eventually emerge out of any resulting friendships--with the internet-based portion of the project assuming greater import. And, ever the optimist, i remain unable to shake the feeling that each next aspirant will resolve the issue entirely before the next contrived national security incident gives way to anything akin to suspension of the constitution or martial law with eventual widespread civil resistance--organized and otherwise--and opportunities to realize such dreams are dashed or otherwise reduced to hit and miss encounters in some sporadically secure underground network of "safe houses" or in soon-to-be overrun isolated pockets of resistance. As luck would have it, part of my job is to, at the very least, prevent the latter. But, to be clear, my suppressed desire to be head-over-heels haplessly enthralled by someone genuinely special remains complicated by my need to filter through the haze of less relevant distractions, quite despite which fact, and abiding all my strength and resolve, I may yet be powerless to resist the premature and tempting allure of an enchantress who pictorializes that seemingly perfect match--an offering against which i am nothing if not patient as i hold myself in wait of resolution that i may be graced by the purest of hearts becometh mine to lose.

I am true and I am honest.
I am honourible and, to no end,
I mean this.

Your having read this far implies that your eyes naturally gravitate to text which, of course, may indicate that we qualify for one another on some level. And, should you find the prospect sufficiently intriguing, it may suffice for you to still yourself so as to know your own heart with an eye toward eventually reckoning it's proximity to mine. Thus, if what you experience there more than suits you, then, with deference to honour, MAKE some thing happen.

Like you, i am not w/o ardent admirers and doably attractive options. Just know that you'll be greatly appreciated and possibly rocked, but you'll need to BRING IT. You need to ROCK!!

Let's face it, i'm probably not going to find my next girlfriend, ltr or lifelong partner in a place whose name incorporates **CUPID** (but implies **hookups.** LOL). But the effort should merit some interesting penpals--so Rock On.
You should message me if
You should message me if your name is Xenia. If not, then you should message me if you experience a mortally allergic reaction to lying and possess a selfless determination to satisfy someone other than yourself (preferably me); if you're intelligent and highly-evolved in other ways and exude a passion for justice and repugnance toward corruption and illicit use of power along with a willingness to fight to change it; and especially if you are someone who can neither be bought nor duped into representing the interests of antagonists in my life and are someone who enthusiastically articulates a desire to win her place in my life and stake her claim to a future of shared aspirations with me. You should be a lover of nature and respect (and imply a willingness to defend) the commons.

You'll best suit me if you desire physical intimacy, love (and/or anticipate loving) sex and, at some point, are determined to selflessly engage me in copious amounts of it on a frequent and oft' spontaneous basis. Beyond which she/you should be energetic and a doer of things. Bonus points for a love of (recreational) games, e.g., board games, computer games, playing and/or supporting my playing of physical sports and otherwise content to be backpacking or at the very least go camping, kayaking, snow-play, beach combing at low tide, occasionally clam digging or geoducking and the like. More bonus points for liking to dance, owning a used library card and a used passport and articulating a willingness to travel for no particular reason. You should like to read and love movies and live entertainment. Also bonus points for being a Native Northwesterner and for never having been to (nor for never desiring to go to) Kalifornia. However if you happen to be a californian you should be prepared to renounce your erstwhile nativity and articulate allegiance to the Native Sounder's Creed ;-p. But if it is the case that you are not herewith a native sounder bonus points for being multi-lingual, speaking with a distinct accent (southerners included and notwithstanding) or being first generation and raised by foreign parents and having lots of stories to share. Also you MUST love art and music--bonus points if you like to sing (even more if you CAN SING) and/or can play a MUSICAL instrument, biological appendages notwithstanding ;-D Pbrrrp--psyche! LOL!! But in truth and fairness, you needn't have earned bonus points in order to be my friend or capture my heart.

VIRGINS BE ADVISED: Given the emo ravers i attract, although i'll not discriminate against you if you happen to be a virgin, validation of such would be necessary prior to invasive physical intimacy w/me given that the condition would impact our tempo and manner of approaches to one another. Let's not make this complicated--it's soo not--but recent events have impressed upon me the need for clarity. Thus, given that i'm not going to dismiss you for your virginity,don't pretend to've been "deflowered" if your hymen is intact--your apparent secret and presumed honour are safe with me. But if you happen to be in that demographic i would eventually NEED TO KNOW (in a sufficiently timely manner). And remember, lying will net you absolute ZERO with me as lying is a game changer and you WILL BE dismissed forthwith and forever for lying to me ABOUT ANYTHING--EVER. Thus, if we meet as a result of your exposure to this profile i will assume that you know the rules--there are only two (2)--and that there will be no need for me to adjust my expectations away from giving you every benefit of any doubt. In exchange for which you my expect my undivided attention.