the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love
before the boredom of the provincial scene, before what comes in between the callus wake of the highly aspiring and the complacency of the hoi-polloi who find “friends” and discover “reality” by simply sitting in a stupor before the tube—there is me.
for i too have a tendency to be wooed by words, to allow the allure of the imagination to set my ways and inflated expectations, and ultimately make more out of little things than most others might. and likewise juxtaposed, i am just as certainly disposed to succumb to ennui in the wake of the eternal tedium of this everyday life, the diurnal strife that we must endure in order to get to the end.
ah! but this is where the pseudo-genius of our precocious minds make amends, this is where we find that Fate and Fortune are our friends and will follow our lead, should we simply heliotropically see to it that our lives and dispositions are oriented toward the sun! this is where and when we have phun with the truth and the wisdom of youth that inspires us to soar upon imaginary wax wings which send us awry into the big blue sky, sometimes all-too-high above our means. this is where Walküre dreams of glory rise and stay afloat upon the quaint delusions of human grandeur and the myths that-we-are in the making.
ah, alas, when we have fallen one too many times too hard upon the ground of err, obligations and attempting to sustain and synchronize other’s realities with our own, sometimes we yearn to be earthbound and alone for a while, at least until we get bored again.
so i am supplicating, searching, seeking for someone to entertain this mad-wile for a sane-while, to be amused and likewise amuse me, to get dirty in the business of human sustainable development with a few laughs and crimson drops of not-so-cheap red wine, merlot maybe, mixed with a little chlorophyll streaked stain, sustained from our whimsical frolics upon the lawn.
just looking to take someone on, be challenged and challenge, and just as easily relax with someone who knows what i’m talking about, just one who doesn’t mind the mind-blathering, imaginary-chattering that makes my world go ‘round and life a little more agreeable.
eccentric aesthetes, creative mavens, water nymphs, and little white lillyed-lies made custom-fit to befit my droll plea are encouraged and will be warmly welcomed.
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