Should we do this?
I'm an INFP. I just want to be held.
In these dark days, I find I am longing for a guy who would be good in a (world-historical) crisis. If you can get us out of Los Angeles unscathed, I can create furniture out of wine boxes and pipes (what I call castaway chic™), and I can make our own cheese or delicious healing soup made of greens gathered from the meadow. I also suspect I'll be a pretty good with a bow and arrow. Also, I can talk to plants. That might come in handy.
When not worried about the coming apocalypse, I find that I am very attracted to architect-types and cinematographer-types. Useful sculptors of space and light—I think this is because I am so cerebral (doesn't mean I'm not sensual!) that I desire someone who really gets the 3-D world, is good with his hands, can make things, change a tire, fix shit, know how things work. I'm very good with theory, philosophy, mysticism, non-ordinary reality, language and that which is beyond language in the subtle realms. The 3-D world, this-worldness, is where I need to find my complementary energy. If you can handle yourself and the things of this world, but would like someone who is like rocket fuel—I can create space between the atoms, and provide solutions that come seemingly out of nowhere, and help you rise— then we should get together.
And yet, despite my longing for an architect-like person in my life, I'm also very into the idea of re-wilding. The built environment is way too much with us (see above).
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 10
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
The recently late L. Cohen gets my heart:
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love...